Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry
by Tawa bids you good day
Summary: AU: Sirius flees through muggle London with his four year old Godson in his arms, their pursuers closing in. PART 1 COMPLETE: Dumbledore must tell Sirius everything he didn't want to know about Harry.
1. The Discovery of the Bodies

A/N: Welcome to Lost: Small Boy. Please enjoy.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry 

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A cloud of pigeons scattered upwards, disturbed by the man hurrying through the paved square. Exhaustion was beginning to show on his handsome features, but he was still keeping the other emotions at bay: terror, fury, desperation.

A few people glanced at him curiously, since he was oddly dressed in a dark blue robe that dragged along the ground, dusty and worn around the bottom, stained with something that might or might not have been blood. Underneath the robe he was wearing jet-black jeans, and combined with his dark hair, which was pulled back into a haphazard pony-tail, he had a fearsome look about him.

The small boy he carried on his hip did not seem frighted. He, too, was dark haired ('obviously he is the man's son', thought the onlookers), small, skinny and pale-skinned. He wore glasses that were too big for him, and a hooded jacket belonging to an adult was pulled over pale green frog-pattern pyjamas, a colour that matched his eyes. While the man glanced nervously around every few moments, the boy was serene to the point of blankness. He stared ahead without a trace of emotion on his small face.

A large bus screeched to a halt, the driver raising a fist in anger and horror. The man had walked right out onto the road without even looking, and the bus driver had managed to stop mere feet from the two pedestrians.

"Sorry," said the man vaguely, looking up at the bus and apologising to its front grill. "Sorry, sorry," he hurried on without further discussion, the shouts of the bus driver following him.

He walked down a street lined with shops, still looking around furtively, and stopped outside a wide row of windows topped by the sign BALLENTYNES.

"Department store," he muttered. He watched people walking in and out through the automatic doors, as if trying to figure out how they made the doors open without the wave of a magic wand. Then, his head bent and a tight knot lumped in his throat, Sirius Black entered the store.

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_Lily and James are dead_.

It ran through his mind over and over again, a gruesome chant bashing him around the head with a frying pan.

_Lily and James are dead_.

On the back of his eyelids, he could see their faces, their bodies sprawled where they had fallen, eyes wide and blank. He had found James, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, and for a moment, Sirius had hoped perhaps he had broken into the wine cellar and passed out on his way to bed – but James had not gotten truly drunk since the night of his wedding, many years ago. Sirius had knelt to close his dead friend's eyes, then, tears already pouring down his face, he had called Lily's name. No one answered.

He had staggered up the stairs, calling again and again. At last, a small voice floated back to him, faint and frightened. He had doubled his pace and thrown open the door to the Potter's bedroom.

The window on the far side of the room was shattered, only a few slivers of glass still in the sill. Lily lay curled on the carpet, her eyes wide like her husband's, her red hair strewn around her head like spilled blood. James' face had been expressionless, impassive, but Lily's was terrified: her mouth was open as if still pleading with an unseen aggressor.

"Sirius," the small voice was louder now. He had turned and seen Harry, sitting behind the door with his knees pulled up and his hands to his mouth. His eyes were red and streaming with tears, and small sobs left his mouth. Sirius fell to his knees and gathered his four-year-old godson into his arms, trying to sooth him.

"Hush, Harry, hush," he whispered, but the boy was inconsolable. Sirius drew back, looking for some injury, the mark of a deadly spell – at first, he could see nothing. Then he gently parted Harry's fringe and found it: a shallow cut, jagged but precise, oddly shaped like a lightening bolt. A trickle of blood had welled up and run down onto the bridge of Harry's nose: Sirius wiped it away with his sleeve and Harry cried out in pain. His godfather tried a quick healing spell, thinking how awful a scar the cut would leave, but no spell could heal it.

Then Sirius had heard a faint, distant noise. He turned and saw the broken window, and a few things clicked in his mind. He got to his feet slowly, wand ready at his side, and Harry clung to his hand, begging him not to go.

"I won't leave you," he had promised. "Stay here for a moment."

He approached the window cautiously, ready to leap backwards. They were on the second story, but he was prepared for any sight: a crowd of death eaters, or a flock of vampires, even. At first, he could see nothing: then his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the garden outside, and he saw a figure moving on the ground below. It looked like a huge black slug, then he realised it was a man in a cloak with his back to window, getting slowly to his feet. The man staggered into an upright position. He seemed to be injured, leaning, holding his head as if in pain. Sirius raised his wand, running suitable curses through his mind. Then the man turned and looked back at the window.

Not a man. A pair of blood red eyes, shining in the moonlight, met Sirius' gaze. He couldn't move: couldn't cast the curse that would kill the monster: the creature with the glowing red eyes pointed its wand at Sirius and a sickly yellow jet illuminated the darkness and smashed into Sirius' chest. Then, with a crack, the man vanished.

Sirius stumbled back. He recognised the spell that had hit him, though he didn't feel its effects yet. It was a curse for locking: it prevented him apparating. _Dammit! I should have dodged it – should have blocked it – _but he hadn't been able to move: those piercing red eyes holding him in place.

It had been him – Voldemort – he had been here, in the house, he had killed the Potters: but not Harry. Why not Harry, who was prophesised as the Dark Lord's downfall? Voldemort, who a month ago had tracked down and slaughtered the Longbottoms and their small son, Neville, and, finding no resistance, come next for Harry and his parents? And why had he fled? Sirius was no match for him – so who had he been frightened of?

Had he been frightened of _Harry?_

"Sirius?" the godfather had turned. Harry was standing over his mother's body, his sobs quietened.

"Don't look!" forgetting his questions for the moment, Sirius had rushed to turn Harry away from the terrible sight. The bed was still tidily made: he pulled the quilt off the top and laid it over Lily's body. "Harry, it's alright now. I'm going to take you away, okay?"

"Where's dad?" the boy asked.

The horror of James' death wrenched Sirius' heart. He couldn't answer, and Harry, understanding what his silence meant, began to cry again.

His first thought: I have failed them. He, Sirius, had been the Potter's secret keeper for four years now, and they had been _safe_. But life was getting more dangerous: he feared capture, feared what he might say under torture. He had convinced Lily and James to change secret keepers, to someone that no one would suspect – after all, who would have guessed that the Potters would put their trust in Pettigrew, shy, cowardly Peter?

He had trusted Peter – _rat!_ – trusted the traitor! But Peter had gone to Voldemort, and Sirius had realised his mistake too late, and now James and Lily were dead.

Even as he comforted Harry, Sirius' auror training began to kick in. He had to get out of the house before reinforcement death eaters arrived. But couldn't apparate! Never mind, he would have to get out some other way. Find help – Moody, Shacklebolt, Remus, anyone who could help get Harry to safety – and then get a message to Dumbledore. Dumbledore had to know. Voldemort had been hurt by his encounter with the Potters: now was the time to strike. If there was anyone left to fight…

How many had died at the ministry? When the message had come through, they had called in reinforcements, 'the ministry under attack'… 'all aurors report at once'… and like fools, they had come. But the death eaters had already overtaken the upper levels, and the aurors were caught by surprise, falling in droves. As he heard Moody's call to retreat, Sirius had wondered, where is He? The Dark Lord?

And then he thought of the glint in Peter's eye when Sirius had bid him goodbye, and he ran, apparating straight onto the Potter's front lawn. He knew then that something was very wrong. There was a perimeter around the house that prevented apparating: James had cast the wards himself. Nothing could lift the spells except James, or his death…

The front door hung off its hinges. Sirius stepped over the threshold, terrified of what lay inside the brightly lit house. And then he had seen James leaning against the wall…

_Lily and James dead._

It was too much. He rubbed Harry's shoulder, "we have to leave now, Harry," he spoke quickly to his godson, hoping the boy was listening, "because soon more people will come, and we don't want them to see us, do we?"

"Who's coming?" Harry asked, wiping his nose.

"Bad people," Sirius said bluntly.

"Where are we going?"

Sirius didn't know yet, so he said, "Some place safe," but that was a lie. Where could they go that was safe?

James' jacket lay over the back of a chair, and Sirius had draped it over Harry's trembling form, "ready? Up we go," Harry put his arms around Sirius' neck and his godfather lifted him up and hurried out into the hall. He held his wand out behind him, dropping blobs of flame out of the tip. If he burned the house, perhaps they would think Harry was dead…

He saw James' body at the bottom of the stairs and said, "close your eyes," Harry opened his mouth to question this instruction, then obeyed. Sirius bent Harry's head against his shoulder, "we're almost there. Just keep them closed," he went back to dropping flames down the stairs as they went.

The fire in the upper storey was burning fiercely now. If James had been an Auror, if he had been trained to fight, as Sirius had been trained, would he have been able to defend his house? 'Unlikely,' Sirius thought sadly. He spread more flames around James' body, 'better burned than in the hands of death eaters' and then pointed his wand at the hearth and, as it blazed into life, took a pinch of dust from the tattered box atop the mantelpiece and sprinkled it over the fireplace.

'London,' he thought to himself, and muttered their destination, a fireplace in a house Sirius knew would be deserted. As he stepped into the fireplace, Harry lifted his head, saw his father's body, and began to cry again.

Sirius wrapped his arms around the thin and precious boy and held him tight as the floo-powder fire rushed them away.

TBC

A/N: This fic can be a complete story in itself, but it is also Part One of a three-part story, Part Two of which is practically complete and Part Three of which is still in the works. Part One has only been reposted because I had to edit the entire thing after…issues…with fanfiction(dot)net admin. I had another story (the sequel to this one) deleted because I had replied to some of my reviewers in the author's notes. Tragic for me, but hey, it happens, so to prevent the deletion of this story as well, I've taken all offending author's notes out of Lost: Small Boy and reposted it. If you like it, I'll have the sequel up again as soon as possible, and I hope to see you there.


	2. A Message for Andromeda

Thank you to all reviewers – and remember: ALL criticisms gladly accepted!

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

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The department store was crowded, but if Sirius had hoped to blend in among the powered ladies and black-clad assistants, he was sadly mistaken. He paused behind a tall perfume display to catch his breath, and searched for anyone in their vicinity who seemed unusual. As he looked around, his eyes rested on some activity near the automatic doors across the room.

A man was talking to one of the assistants, apparently having just entered the store. At first glance he didn't look out of the ordinary: but, like Sirius, he did not quite fit in. He was wearing an outfit at least ten years out of fashion, along with leather sandals overtop of socks, despite the puddles outside left over from recent rain. His dark grey hair was beaded in a style Sirius had seen in many elderly wizards.

As Sirius watched, the assistant pointed in their direction and the man turned his head. Sirius ducked back behind the perfume display, but he had no doubt the wizard had seen him. He didn't look like an auror, and he had definitely been following them, which meant he could only be an enemy.

Sirius bumped Harry higher on his hip and dashed between the aisles of make-up counters towards the textiles section. A wide stairwell lead down into the basement, where a sign declared a sale on good linen, along with public toilets and a mother's room.

He hurried down the stairs and found himself in a maze of sheets and towels. Another sign pointed him towards a white-washed corridor. Sirius entered it and ducked into the mother's room, pushing the door shut behind him and locking it with a quick spell.

He lowered Harry onto the changing table and sagged into a chair. With luck, they had evaded their follower for now. If he found them in here…well, Sirius was ready. Very few lone death eaters could take on a fully-trained auror, let alone one cornered and angry.

Harry was watching Sirius patiently.

"Holding up, kid?" his godfather asked, and the boy nodded. Sirius checked the cut on his forehead: it had sealed up quickly, confirming Sirius' fears that it was a magical wound.

Where to go? The spy would be outside in the store, waiting for him to make a break for it. He could fight his way out, but among all those muggles, even a little bit of magic would attract unwanted attention: their follower was obviously waiting for back-up. Sirius clutched the wand hidden in his robe. His cousin Andromeda lived only a few miles from here, though he couldn't remember her address exactly. They would be safe there for a few hours: long enough to get a message to Dumbledore.

He was so close…if only he could apparate! But the locking spell clung heavy to his ribcage, weighing him in one place. If only he had taught Harry to apparate, though at his age he probably couldn't manage it yet. If only he had searched the Potter's house for James' old invisibility cloak – but it was in storage somewhere, and the time it would have taken to find it would have cost them too much. If only he could get to a fireplace…but they would be watching the floo network. That was how they had tracked him to London: it had been a stupid mistake for him to make, travelling by floo powder in the first place.

Only one option left.

"Harry," Sirius took his godson's hands in his own large pair, "I want you to stay here-"

"Where are you going?" Harry's eyes widened.

Sirius cupped the boy's chin in one hand, "I'm going to get help, alright?"

"And leave me?"

"Yes," said Sirius quietly, "I have to get a message to my cousin, Andromeda, and I have to be in the open to do it. But if I'm in the open, you'll be in danger, do you see? She's going to come and find you, and she'll look after you."

Harry looked accusing, "And then you'll come back?"

"I'll try, Harry."

Harry threw his arms around Sirius, "no. No. I want Mum and Dad! I want you to stay!" he sobbed.

"Harry," Sirius hugged his godson, not wanting to let go, "sometimes people have to go away. But once Andromeda comes, she'll take you to Dumbledore. Do you remember him? The old man with the long beard, remember?"

"Yes," sniffed Harry, "I threw up on his lap. I'm scared of him."

"You did too. That's alright, he wasn't angry, he's a nice guy, I promise he is. And he's going to look after you. And Moony will be there."

"Really?"

"Yes," said Sirius, though he had made that part up. He had to keep Harry calm somehow.

"Oh," said Harry, tugging at a strand of Sirius' hair that had come loose from the ponytail, "oh. Okay. If Moony is there, he can find you. Okay."

Sirius straightened up and took James' jacket off Harry's shoulders, "I need to take this, Harry. Now, you have to listen. If anyone comes in and asks you what you're doing in here, you have to tell them that your Mummy has gone to the toilet and you're waiting for her to come back. Don't go with anyone – don't let anyone take you out of this room. When Andromeda comes, and she'll come as soon as she can, she'll recognise you, but you won't know her. You have to ask her, 'what did Sirius give you for your seventeenth birthday?' and she'll tell you, 'a box of cockroaches.'"

Harry chuckled, "did you really?"

"Yes. And I enchanted them to catch fire when she opened the box. I was only twelve. Now can you remember all that?"

Harry repeated the instructions diligently. While he did so, Sirius took a hold of the cushion on the seat and wrapped James' jacket around it. Then he tapped it with his wand and muttered a spell: the pillow was transfigured into something that look roughly like a four year old boy with black hair and green pyjamas. Harry's eyes widened at this crude double of himself. Sirius pulled the hood up over the head of the pillow and positioned it in his arms so that its faults weren't visible.

He gave Harry a quick hug and then went to the door, unlocked it and peered out into the corridor. A few muggle women were walking back into the linen section, but he could not see anyone suspicious.

"Sirius," said Harry quietly, "Mum and Dad are dead, aren't they?"

Two green eyes were watching him, full of intelligence.

"Yes," said Sirius, "they are."

Harry looked down at his hands, "goodbye," he whispered.

"Bye, Harry," said Sirius, and hurried out into the corridor. He considered locking the door from the outside, but knew that would really get the muggles' attention. He silently said goodbye to his godson again.

He slipped back through the store, carrying the fake child in his arms.

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Sirius knew that every step he took was drawing their pursuers away from Harry, so he walked quickly. He knew that the wizard with the socks and sandals was following him as he left the department store, and resisted the urge to break into a run. He had to get his message to Andromeda, the only person he knew for sure would be near enough to help, but if he let it off too early the man following him would be bound to sense a trick and might retrace Sirius' steps, back to the bathroom of the store where Harry waited.

He went into shops and out of shops, weaving a complex trail and making many stops out of sight. He recognised this neighbourhood, and knew Andromeda's house was only a few blocks away. He slipped his wand out of his robes and muttered a quiet spell. The tip lit up with a tiny red light, like a glowing ember. Sirius put the tip to his lips and blew on it, and the light grew brighter. He began to speak into it as if it was a muggle microphone.

He told Andromeda what had happened to the Potters, where Harry was waiting, and how she could contact Dumbledore. He could only hope she would act on the message – though she was against the persecution of muggles, Andromeda had never picked sides in this war, and Sirius hadn't seen his cousin for several years, so he didn't know where her loyalties lay exactly. But he was sure she would never give a innocent child over to Voldemort, and she was the only person nearby who he knew he could trust.

The message was complete. He stopped and looked up at the cloudy sky, and visualised the path the message would have to take. He pictured his cousin's face in his mind, so that the message would reach her. He raised his wand and pointed upwards, muttering the words that would release the flying message into the air…

Something slammed into his back, sending ice needles running through his body: his limbs became stiff and immobile and he toppled to the ground, falling painfully on his side. His entire body was frozen, all but his eyes, which blinked stupidly. The transfigured pillow rolled out of his arms and lay on its back, the featureless face staring at the sky.

"That's not the boy!" he heard angry voices, and two pairs of feet came into view. One of them picked up the pillow and threw it aside angrily. Curious muggles were staring at Sirius in concern, but Sirius was too horrified to pay any attention to them. He had had no idea they had been following him so close, but he should have known death eaters would have no qualms about using magic in front of muggles, as he had been prepared to do, if it came down to a fight.

His wand was still clutched in his stiff, outstretched arm. If he could activate the spell to send the message whizzing away, it might still reach Andromeda. He chanted the words in his head, desperately trying to work the magic silently. _Harry's life depends on this…_

A foot, clad in a sock under a sandal, slammed down on Sirius's hand, and he would have cried out in pain if he could have. With a sickly crunch, his wand snapped in half and the wizard standing over him kicked the pieces away.

"Where's the boy?" one of the death eaters swore, "where'd he go?"

"I don't know, shut up," the other replied aggressively.

"_He_ knows! Unfreeze him, I'll make him tell us! Give me ten minutes with him, he'll tell us!"

The second death eater growled, "not with this crowd. We'll get him out of here – if the lieutenant turns up and finds out we lost the kid, what d'ya think he'll do to us?"

His companion made a noise like someone standing on a cat, "oh, oh, we're dead, dead…" he moaned.

The second death eater knelt down and Sirius saw his face: it was twisted in a frown, his features rough and ugly. The muggles behind him were closing in, unable to resist a spectacle.

The wizard pointed his wand at Sirius' chest and said quietly, "stupefy."

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TBC


	3. The Three Spinsters

A/N: this chapter is a little slow and sentimental: a comic bridge, if you like. Bear with me for now, it should pick up next chapter.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

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Where was Sirius?

Harry sat on the chair with his knees drawn up to his chin and waited, but he could not stand the waiting much longer. Four-year-old boys do not know how to keep themselves entertained, and Harry's boredom was slowly overcoming his fear and obedience.

Without the jacket Sirius has draped over his shoulders, which had smelled of his father, cold was creeping up his limbs. Hunger, too, began to weigh down on him, though he quenched his thirst from the sink in the corner of the room. He could not remember when he had eaten last – before going to bed, before the man with the red eyes had come and hurt his mother. Sirius, who lived a life where fasting was a common practise (since there were much greater dangers in his lift than a little hunger) must have forgotten that children need to eat quite often.

Where was Sirius? Where was Andromeda, who was supposed to take him to Moony? Hours had passed, now, and no adults had come to claim him. A woman had come in with a baby, but he had carefully recited the excuse about waiting for his mother and she had gone away before long.

Harry began to reason out his options. Clearly, the person Andromeda had been delayed. Perhaps she was dead, like Mum and Dad. Harry tried not to think about Mum and Dad, because he knew that he would cry again, and he wanted to be brave. Mum had been brave, when the man had come into the house, she had not cried – she had just shouted, and then…no, he would not think about Mum.

Sirius had told him to stay in the room until Andromeda came: but she must be dead, so Harry would have to find Moony by himself. Perhaps, Harry thought, he might even have to find Dumbledore, although he would rather not, because he was afraid Dumbledore would still be angry about the throwing-up incident.

Besides, Sirius had not made him _promise_ to stay in the room, so he was not really breaking any rules. With this assurance, Harry got off the chair, opened the door, and looked out into the corridor, as Sirius had done before he went away.

It was empty, and dark. Even the large room full of linen at the end of the corridor was dark. Harry quivered at the thought of walking through that darkness without anyone beside him. But after a few moments he pushed his glasses up his nose and stepped into the corridor.

He walked through the room full of linen, ready to run if he heard the sounds of a waiting ambush, but everything was still and silent. He could see the stair well in the distance, down which light seeped, warm and inviting, and he made a beeline for it. It seemed a great number of stairs for his small legs, but at the top he found himself in the mass of perfume displays and make-up counters which, from his level, looked like an unnegotiable labyrinth. But at least the muggle lights were on up here.

Not for long, however. As Harry debated the best direction to take, the fluorescent tubes at the far end of the room flickered and went out. Then the next farthest ones. Then the next. The darkness was getting closer and closer, and Harry, thinking of the impenetrable blackness he would have to face when all the lights were gone, forgot his restraint and began to yell his lungs out.

"HELP! HELP! I'M STILL HERE! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!"

At once the darkness paused, and then all the lights came back on. Harry paused in his yelling and took a deep breath.

"Who was that?" a voice floated over the displays, "who's in here?"

And after a moment, an elderly lady with her steely hair tied back from her round face emerged from behind the rows and her eyes fell on Harry. She stared for a moment, then said, "goodness! What are you doing here? Have you lost your mummy?"

"Yes," sobbed Harry, rushing in a stumbling run towards the friendly face, "yes, she's gone, and the Andromeda person, and Sirius too, they're all gone and I'm afraid the man with the red eyes will come back and I'm afraid of the dark and I'm afraid of Dumbledore just a little bit, and I wanted to find Moony but I don't know where to begin…oh, please, are you a muggle?"

"Well, maybe. I'm not sure I know that word," said the old woman. She offered Harry a handkerchief and he took it, "I was just about to turn out the lights, so I suppose you've been here quite a while."

"Hours and hours," Harry said, quickly wiping away his tears, embarrassed and relieved all at once.

"Well, it's no good calling her on the intercom, then. She must be worried sick about you by now. Do you know where your house is?"

"Not in London," he replied, "it's in the countryside. Sirius brought me here because he had to burn the house down. We had to escape through the chimney."

"Goodness," frowned the woman, "well, in that case, you'd better come home with me and I'll call the police and tell them you've been found. Are you hungry?"

"Very much. Sirius doesn't always eat because he fights people all the time, so he didn't have any food. And I'm cold, too. Sirius put my jacket on the pillow so that it would look like me."

"You don't say! Well, we'll tuck you up in bed and when you wake up everything will be sorted out," the muggle woman promised. She held out her hand and Harry slipped his small palm into hers.

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"Oh, hello Shirley…Oh! What on earth is _that_?"

The old muggle woman stepped aside to nudge Harry into the door of the small flat. He looked around in wonder. He had never seen such a small, cluttered house, except perhaps the one time he had gone to stay with Sirius for the weekend. A second elderly woman, very tall and angular, was standing at a tiny kitchen sink folding pastries.

"His name is Harry, and I found him at the store when I was closing up," said Shirley. She bent down to talk to the small boy standing politely on her threshold, "now, Harry, this is my sister Belinda. Don't mind her manners, she hasn't got any."

Belinda puckered her mouth, "well? What are you going to do with him? Bell will be here in a few minutes, and how are we supposed to play cards with a pet getting under our feet?"

"He's not a pet, he's a little _boy_," Shirley scolded, "and I'm going to call the police and ask them if there are any children missing in the area."

She sat Harry down at a couch and gave him a blanket and a mug of tea, which was too watery and sweet. Three decrepit cats of various mouldy colours crept up onto the couch and sat themselves on Harry.

Shirley got off the phone before long and shook her head, "they say no children have been reported missing today – not of his description, at any rate. I suppose he'll have to stay the night and I'll take him back to the store tomorrow."

"You suppose! Where is he _supposed _to sleep? What is he _supposed_ to eat? _I_ certainly won't be cooking for him!" Belinda objected.

Shirley looked ready to reply hotly, but at that moment the doorbell rang, and Shirley rushed to answer it before the argument could continue.

"Bell! Darling!" she cried, ushering in a grizzled old woman whose wiry hair was beginning to escape from its hairnet. The new woman embraced her two friends and the three of them settled around the coffee table.

"And who is _this?_" squawked Bell with a smile when her eyes alighted on Harry.

"I found him at the store," Shirley said proudly, pouring out three cups of tea while Belinda went to rescue the pasties from the oven, "shall we keep him?" the two ladies laughed uproariously as if this was the funniest joke in the world. Harry hid behind the tea cup and absently patted one of the cats.

"Harry, don't be shy," Shirley patted his shoulder with one plump, wrinkled hand, "this is our friend Arabella Figg. She's tells the _silliest_ stories!"

"Hello," said Harry quietly.

"Hello to you too, young man," Bell smiled at him and then turned back to Shirley, questioning her eagerly about the latest issue of _Knit Weekly_.

The conversation went on, and Harry seemed to be forgotten. He wolfed down the pasties which Belinda brought in from the kitchen and dangled the tea-bag in front of the cats' noses to see if they wanted to play mouse. Apparently, they didn't. He began to wonder if these muggles could help him at all.

"…yes, there was some terrible commotion down on the street while you were at work," Belinda was saying to Shirley, "a man fell over and had a seizure or something. But his two friends picked him up and took him away. He must have been expecting it because he was carrying a pillow. To cushion the fall, I expect."

The word 'pillow' met Harry's ears and his head jerked upwards, "carrying a pillow? What did he look like?"

Belinda frowned at this interruption, "oh, I don't remember. Dark-haired, I think – yes, he had an ugly pony-tail. And his mates were wearing the most awful, out-of-date clothes! The loonies they let wander the street these days, I don't know what this country's coming to."

But Shirley hushed her sister aside. She was looking at Harry's ashen face, "whatever's the matter, sweetie?"

Harry had dropped his empty tea-cup onto the carpet, "that was Sirius! They took him away, the d-death eaters took him away! He couldn't get a message to Andromeda – and now I'll have to find Moony and Dumbledore all by myself…But he said he'd come back…he said he would…"

"Oh, dear, now, look, it's alright…" Shirley began, bemused. But she was cut off by the crash of a second tea-cup. Everyone looked at the third woman, Bell.

"W-what did you say your name was, young man?" she asked faintly.

"Harry," the boy told her, "Harry Potter."

Arabella Figg blinked, "as in James Potter? Lily and James are your parents? I didn't have any idea that they have children!"

"Yes. Just me," said Harry. He didn't not want to tell Bell not to talk about his parents in the present tense.

Arabella Figg put her hand to her mouth, "you said – Andromeda? You're looking for someone named Andromeda?"

Harry nodded, "she is Sirius' cousin. I have to ask her a question to make sure."

Arabella Figg got to her feet and drew herself up to her full height, "Shirley, Belinda, it is our duty to help this boy on his way, as quickly as possible. We must depart at once."

"Where are we going?" Belinda asked, sounding alarmed and putting her tea on the table hastily.

"To the Tonks' house at number 107," said Arabella Figg, "come along, young man."

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TBC


	4. Explanations from Nymphadora

A/N: I hope no one disagrees with my calculation of Tonks' age. If you think I've got it wrong, tell me where I've made the mistake. You may also wonder why Voldemort is healthy and kicking so short a time after his attack on the Potters, when according to canon the real attack left him so near to death he was "less than the meanest ghost".

Well, I have my reasons and explanations, but I cannot give them now. That would spoil the ending. Some of you may guess, but I probably won't be answering questions about it just yet.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

--------------------------------

Morning broke. Harry wriggled in his sleep and, though his eyes remained closed, he was waking up. He could hear his mother's voice coming through the door, and waited for the smell of James' burned bacon and boiled eggs.

He woke up a little further, and remembered that it was not his mother's voice.

"…you don't get it, Ted! If they get even a hint that we're sheltering him – a hint is all they need – they will level this house to the ground to find him. They will kill us. We already have a daughter to protect, Ted, let alone someone else's children as well!"

"Anne, alright, don't get worked up about this. He can't stay here, okay, I understand. So we'll send him to the school, if you think that's where your cousin was meaning to go. Through the fireplace."

"No, no, they'll be watching the Floo network…"

"Well, Apparate them!"

"You can't. I just don't know what Sirius meant me to do. Obviously Hogwarts was his destination, but if he was being chased, why come to me? Surely the house of one of his auror buddies would have made more sense!"

"Look, Andromeda, there's no use worrying about it now. If you really think they'll find the poor kid here, send a letter to the headmaster of the school and then he can be off our hands tomorrow."

"Yes. I'll send Dumbledore an owl right now. Yes, that's what I'll do…"

There came a pause, and then the man called Ted said, "oh, Anne, don't cry! It'll be alright! You're a witch for God's sake!"

"Sorry, it's just…I feel awful about Sirius," Andromeda's voice sounded gluggy through her tears, "I used to watch out for him when we were at school, you know. He was always in trouble. And now…I wish there's something I could have done."

"You're doing everything you can by taking that wee boy in. Let's not talk about it now…"

The voices subsided and Harry rolled over. He drifted in and out of sleep, and dreamed of two huge red eyes that became mouths full of teeth.

"Breakfast!"

He jerked awake and sat up, blinking. A large pinkish blob was hovering somewhere to his right. The blob seemed to have a pair of blobby arms, which waved cheerily at him.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot!" said the cheery voice. The arms flitted away and then came back and lowered Harry's glasses onto his nose. The room came back into focus, filled with warm mid-morning light. A young girl was leaning with her elbows on the bed spread, watching him. She had a freckled, heart-shaped face rimmed by spiky golden hair.

"Good morning!" she said brightly, "come on and have something to eat. Food's in the kitchen. I said to mum that I could bring you breakfast in bed, but she was all like, 'no, Dora, you'll drop it' and she wouldn't let me. So, come!"

Harry pushed the covers back and got out of the bed. He followed the golden-haired girl through the house and into a large kitchen warmed by an enormous fireplace. A frying pan floating over the stove was making pancakes all by itself, while a calender on the wall showed a school of tropical fish which were swimming back and forth across the paper.

"Mum told me about you this morning," said the girl as they sat down at the table. She pulled out a chair for Harry and flumped down into one herself, "but I don't think she knows much herself what has happened. It's in all the papers, though!"

"What is?" asking Harry huskily, rubbing his eyes. The frying pan flew through the air and dropped onto the table with a clunk. The girl began serving up the pancakes.

"Well, you-know-who!"

"No, I don't," Harry told her.

"What? You know! He-who-must-not-be-named," she lowered her voice, "the _Dark Lord._"

Harry suddenly understood, "oh. Um."

"Have you been reading the papers? No, I don't expect you can read yet, can you? Well, they're saying he got beat up real bad. The ministry – the ministry is in bad shape – who am I kidding, the ministry is gone. The aurors are running things at the moment but Mum doesn't know how long they can keep it up. But they're saying that it was all a distraction for something else the death eaters were doing, and you-know-who came off the worst. Here!" she got up and brought a newspaper over from the kitchen bench and began to read from it, "you-know-who staying hidden from all but his closest followers…rumoured to be recovering from terrible injuries sustained in mysterious circumstances…" she turned over a page, "and here, 'Potter family murdered – mark absent'."

Harry swallowed a bite of pancake, feeling his throat constrict. He balled his fists, desperate not to cry in front of this girl, whom he liked despite her discourteous jabber. He asked, "what does that mean, 'mark absent'?"

"They think the family – the Potters – were killed by you-know-who, but the…" again she lowered her voice, "…the dark mark wasn't set in the sky. So if it _was_ you-know-who, he must have left in a hurry, without finishing the job properly!" her eyes sparkled with the scandal of it, "which suggests _that's_ where he got his injuries! And we know the job wasn't finished – because here you are, alive and well."

Harry stared at his plate, "I didn't know he was hurt. I don't remember where he went. There was a flash…then Sirius was there…"

The girl's eyes widened, "y-you really were there? You saw him?"

Harry didn't reply. The girl seemed to realise how tactless she was being and quickly changed the subject.

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself. Nymphadora Tonks," she held out her hand for him to shake, "awful name, isn't it? I'm going to change it one day," she rolled her eyes, "Mum just calls me Dora, but if you can't pronounce Nymphadora, you can call just say Tonks to get my attention."

"Harry Potter," he replied, shaking her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Harry Potter!" she grinned, "guess what? It's my first day of school tomorrow."

"I'm not at school yet, either," Harry told her sympathetically.

"No, not just _ordinary_ school!" Nymphadora laughed, "_Hogwarts!_ I've already been through normal school. But tomorrow I'm going to Hogwarts for the first time!"

Harry had heard of Hogwarts. His heart leapt when she mentioned it: he knew that was where Sirius had wanted him to go. At last, he was on the right track!

"I can't wait to learn magic," Nymphadora continued, "but I already know a little bit. Watch this!" she screwed up her face in an expression of great concentration. At first, Harry couldn't see what he was meant to be watching: then he noticed that the girl's nose seemed to be longer than it had been a moment ago. As he stared in horror, her lips swelled until they were as large as yams, drooping down to her chin, while her nose hung like a wet sock. Overall, it gave the distinct impression that her face was melting.

"Dora, I told you not to do that in front of guests, it's disgusting!" a sharp voice said, and Harry looked over to see a tall, auburn-haired woman come into the room. She wore light robes with layers of soft, thin material and her hair was elaborately tied behind her head. This was Andromeda Tonks, Sirius' cousin.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, greeting him with a swift bow.

Harry had already spoken to her the night before, when Arabella Figg had brought him to the Tonks' doorstep. He had also asked her the question about the birthday present, and gotten a satisfactory answer.

"Don't be concerned if you see Dora's nose falling off. My daughter is a budding Metamorphmagus," Andromeda explained, sitting down in the chair across the table from him but not taking a pancake. She glanced at Nymphadora, who was now holding her nose out of the way while she tried to mould her lips back into shape with the other hand, "although she still has a long way to go," she added.

While Tonks tried to reposition her facial features, Andromeda turned to her young guest and said heavily, "Harry, you have to think. Do you know who Sirius planned to meet with in order to get you to a safe place? Is there anyone who was supposed to pick you up and take you anywhere?"

Harry shook his head, "he said you would take me to Dumbledore, that's all he said. And he said maybe Moony would be there – Remus, I mean."

Andromeda sighed, "alright. I suppose I will have to oblige as best I can. I've already sent a letter to Dumbledore to tell him what I intend to do. Who is Remus?"

"Remus Lupin," explained Harry, "he comes to visit lots. He looks after me when Sirius can't. He's un-um-ployed."

"I see," frowned Andromeda, "well, I'll tell you what we're going to do, Harry. We have to get you to Hogwarts, where Dumbledore will be. But we can't apparate there, or go by floo powder, and the journey by broom would be very long. So tomorrow, when Dora takes the train to Hogwarts, she's going to take you with her, alright?"

"I am?" Nymphadora's face was back to normal by now, and she jumped in her seat, bumping the table and knocking all the cutlery an inch to the left, "oh, wow!"

A flicker of regret brushed across Andromeda's face, but she quickly covered it up, "yes, but you must remember that this is serious, Dora."

"I'll remember, I promise," Nymphadora brushed her mother's obvious concerns aside and leapt to her feet, "come on, Harry, we'll find you some clothes to wear. This is going to be a riot!"

---------------------------------

Sirius, like Harry, sensed the breaking of morning. In the darkness, he stirred and awoke. His head ached from the force of the stunning spell, and it struggled to remember what had happened and where he now was.

His eyes were bound loosely by a wide swath of material that smelled of motor oil. He moved to pull the blindfold off and aches shot through his limbs, his wrists screaming in protest. He was lying on some hard, cold surface, which felt like a thick metal slab – probably iron, with the purpose of repressing magic. His hands were tied above his head by tight wire which was cutting in the skin, and he flexed his fingers to try and get some feeling back into them. Hopefully, he tried to transform into his animagus form, but nothing happened. Either the iron bench he lay on was preventing the transformation or they had guessed he was an animagus and cast some hex to keep him in human form.

He suddenly remembered his last moments before he had been knocked out and he gritted his teeth in despair. His wand had been broken before he could release the message to Andromeda – his godson might still be waiting in that muggle department store, waiting for help that was never going to arrive. It would not be long before the death eaters retraced Sirius' steps and found Harry.

And even if by some chance, some friendly witch or wizard had smuggled Harry away, what would they do with him next? Only members of the Order of Phoenix could communicate safely with Headmaster Dumbledore. Any letter directed to Dumbledore would not be read by his eyes alone – there were spies intercepting all of Dumbledore's mail, as the Order had discovered the hard way.

Furious with himself, frustrated beyond belief, and also dead afraid, Sirius wriggled hopelessly. To his surprise, he felt the blindfold shift on his face. He rubbed the side of his head on his shoulder and managed to push the rough material up onto his forehead. A final shake of his head, and the rag slipped off and fell to the ground.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dim room. The only light was a thin slit shining from under the door. Sirius surveyed his prison unhappily. It was not much more than a few feet square, and was empty of furniture apart from a muggle hot water cylinder. The walls were concrete and windowless: it seemed to be nothing more than the cellar of some muggle apartment.

And there was someone lying on the floor. Sirius froze and strained his eyes in the semi-darkness. The man was lying on his chest, his head turned to the side. His eyes stared blankly at the wall, wide from fear: he was quite certainly dead. Sirius recognised him after a moment. It was the same wizard who had followed them into the department store, probably the same one who had cast the freezing charm in the street. His beaded grey hair fell across his face, as Lily's had. Who had killed him?

Footsteps outside: the sliver of light from under the door was cast into shadow. Sirius heard a muffled 'alohomora' and the click of the lock, then the handle turned and light flooded in, blinding him. He had to turn his head until his eyes adjusted once more. A man was standing silhouetted in the doorway, swaying slightly. His right hand clutched a wand which hung limply at his side. Sirius recognised his rough, ugly face: it was the second death eater, the wizard who had stunned him.

Sirius looked down at the body on the floor. There was no visible injury: he had probably been struck down by the killing curse.

The man in the doorway saw Sirius scrutinising his dead companion, "had to kill him, di'in't I?" he said. His words were slurred and the faint smell of drink wafted under Sirius' nose, "he lost your boy. Wanted to go to lieutenant…can't…cou'n't let him do it. I'm in Lieutenant's favour, see…can't be caught making mistakes…"

He took an unsteady step into the room, "thas' alright, though," he said, "'cos I got you, now. You gonna tell me where the boy went: Master needs to the boy. Can't let any harm get to him…see? Now you gonna tell me," he waved his wand threateningly and indicated the body on the ground, "you gonna tell me where you hid the boy, or you gonna end up like him, see? Only it gonna take longer. Gonna take much, much longer for me to kill you…"

Sirius realised his heart was thumping, but he couldn't control his fear. He saw James' staring eyes in his mind. _Not like this…_ he thought, _it's not fair for me to go like this…_

The wizard gave a drunken bark and pointed his wand at his captive's heart.

-----------------------------------

TBC


	5. A Journey Interrupted

A/N: This is the longest chapter yet. I just couldn't stop writing. If you find it overly long and boring, feel free to fire criticism at me about which bits can be chopped up/out. Some of the beginning is annoying me, but I don't want to get rid of any backstory.

Ok, ok, it was cruel of me to chuck that cliff hanger in the last chapter, and I hope you can forgive me. Though I'm not apologising for it. Onwards…

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

----------------------------

He'd never been on a train before.

He'd spent most of his life in the house in Godric's Hollow. Mum and Dad had explained that he was safe as long as he was in the house: he was a secret. So he had rarely been anywhere that was further than you could fly by broom in an hour, though sometimes he had visited Moony or Peter by Floo. He also went on trips with Sirius, but that was different, because Sirius had no permanent abode. He wondered what had happened to Peter. Mum and Dad had been worried about their old friend, because Peter was so shy and he was helping keep Harry a secret. Harry hoped he was okay.

He stood in awe of the huge scarlet train. He had never seen anything so huge and powerful in his life. He stood close to Andromeda, gazing up at the steam billowing out into the air. Nymphadora dashed down the platform and then back again, calling to her mother and father. There were so many people – and all of them _wizards!_ Harry had never seen so many wizards together in one place. There were owls everywhere, so that some people had cast shields to protect themselves from droppings. There were trunks that walked on long black legs and electric blue and yellow rats running between people's legs. Among the robes and cloaks, there were more colours than Harry could name. And so many children!

"Won't I need a ticket?" Harry tugged on Andromeda's hand nervously.

"No, sweetie, don't worry," the regal witch assured him, "it's already been sorted out with the conductor."

"Come on, Harry!" Nymphadora beckoned to him. Her face shone with excitement. Ted was helping her carry her trunk onto the train, "it's leaving in a few minutes!"

Harry wrapped his arms around Andromeda's leg (the only part of her he could reach), "thank you," he said quietly, and then he ran to join her daughter.

Nymphadora was waiting for him at the door, but she took off as soon as she saw he was on board and he had to run to catch up with her, dodging around the looming students as he went. Some called out to him, "hey! You better get back to the platform!" but he didn't have time to explain that he was coming on the train with them.

"Here, Harry!" Nymphadora was waving to him from a compartment. The two of them sat at the window and waved to Mr and Mrs Tonks, who stood in the crowd of parents. Harry noticed that Andromeda was the only parent not smiling proudly at their children. And then the whistle was blowing, the floor beneath their feet began to shake and they were moving away from the platform and the crowd was out of sight.

They were soon joined in the compartment by other first-year students. The first was a dark, burly girl who barged in carrying an enormous silver case which she dumped on the seat next to her. She loudly introduced herself as Jamie Flint.

"I'm Nymphadora Tonks," Nymphadora replied.

"Nymphadora? What the hell kind of name is that?" Flint sneered.

"It's really just Tonks," Nymphadora said quietly. She bit her lip and did not continue the conversation. Flint glared suspiciously at Harry before disappearing behind a small compact mirror to touch up her make-up.

The activity did not die down very quickly. Students who were not first-years made their way up and down the corridor outside, greeting their friends and catching up on news. A few of the older students walked with serious faces, and Harry could hear them discussing the fall of the ministry in hushed tones.

"…Alastor Moody, that's what I heard. He's declared himself Emergency Minister for Magic: some of the officials who survived the attack at the ministry are calling it a coup…"

"Well, he hasn't got the right to put himself in charge…!"

"He's head of the auror division. Who's going to stop him?"

Harry leaned a little closer to the door, straining his ears to listen to the three six-years, who had lowered their voices.

"There are rumours you-know-who is too weak to even leave his bed."

"They're just rumours. I mean, he's…well…he's not sort of person to really get ill, is he? …but did you read about the Potters…?"

A shiver ran down Harry's back, but he kept listening all the same.

"…The Prophet speculated that they injured you-know-who somehow. And after all, who burned the house? Why was there no Dark Mark? There's more to this than just another murder…"

"Or it's just coincidence. Maybe they weren't killed by Voldemort at all."

"…bollocks! Dad says they've been in hiding from him for years!"

"…I heard from my Aunt that they secretly had a son. But his body wasn't found in the wreckage of the house…"

However, at this moment two second-year friends collided just outside their compartment and the six-years slipped off to continue their discussion in more privacy. Harry angrily watched the two second-years, wishing they had chosen a better moment to meet. One was a dark-skinned boy with glasses, the other had red hair and wore a knitted jumper with a dragon on it.

"Come on, come and look!" the red haired boy was saying as he grabbed his friend's arm, "Mum and Dad saved up to buy me a broom for school this year. So now I've got a chance to get on the Gryffindor team!"

"Like my toad's got a chance," the other boy replied as they headed off down the corridor.

Another first-year girl, wearing an emerald green skirt, opened the compartment door a few minutes later, hauling her trunk behind her.

"Hello. I'm Judith Vance. Is this seat taken? I was sitting with all these b-b-boys," she said in a rush, looking at her toes, "they were fifth-year and they kept talking about how we have to do a t-test to get in with a t-t-troll and w-wrestling."

"Come on in," said Nymphadora, motioning for Judith to sit down next to her. The new girl put her trunk overhead and lowered herself down between Harry and Nymphadora.

The two girls chatted happily from then on, despite Judith's stammer. An hour went by, and then another: Flint left, and came back, and a lady pushing a trolley knocked on the door and offered them something for lunch. Harry had no money, but his hunger must have shown on his face because Nymphadora and Judith both bought him a pile of sweets and pastries, apparently competing for his attention.

"My mother's an auror," Judith explained while she and Nymphadora chewed their way through three packets of every flavour beans, "so she's n-not at home m-much. I only see her a few times every month. She…hey, are w-we there already?"

The train began to shudder beneath their feet and Harry felt that they were slowing down. Nymphadora looked out the window and frowned, "we can't be," she went across to the door of the compartment and put her head out, "what's going on?"

People poked their heads out of their compartments asking the same question, but everyone else seemed just as bemused. Someone called out, "they're saying up front that the rails are blocked. We have to wait for them to be cleared."

Nymphadora shut the door tight and sat down next to Harry, and then took her wand out of her robes: it was brand new and had never been used. She pulled open her shoulder bag and took out one of her school books, and began to rummage through it.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked.

Nymphadora glanced at him, "curses," she said.

"W-what? Why?" Judith looked alarmed, but Nymphadora brushed her off. Flint got up and paced back and forth between the door and the window, frowning.

A voice rang out from the corridor, "prefects! Prefects, to me!" it was one of the sixth-years who had been discussing the ministry, who wore a shining badge on their chest. In a few moments, three other prefects had materialised, and more were hurrying down to join the ground. Harry opened the compartment door a crack to listen to the sixth-year. She was speaking very fast and quietly.

"Go into the compartments, start asking for anyone who has their apparating licence. Get them to start taking the kids off the train, side-along apparation, as far into the forest as they can go. And I mean, as far as you can go – make it ten miles if you have the strength. Tell them to take two at a time if they can do it."

"Why? What's going on?" one of the other prefects demanded.

"We have to get everyone off this train," the sixth-year breathed, "right now. _Go, _for goodness' sake!"

The group broke up and the prefects were dashing up and down the corridor, sticking their heads into compartments, and the calls of, "is there anyone here who can apparate?" echoed up and down the train.

"Look!" Judith cried, grabbing Nymphadora's sleeve, "Tonks, look! In the trees!"

The two girls pressed their faces to the window. There was a few metres of clear space on either side of the railway track, so that the forest began a little way away. But as they watched, figures could be seen walking under the branches, two, three, five ten: they were closing in around the train, and every one of them was clad in black cloaks and white masks.

Judith began to moan. A seventh-year suddenly opened the compartment door with a snap, making them all jump. He was panting and his cheeks were pink from exhaustion.

"Quick. Someone take my arm," he gasped. Judith and Flint both leapt to their feet at once, but Flint was closer and got there first.

"Don't l-leave us!" Judith begged.

"It's alright. I'll come back. I've done two trips already," the boy promised. And then he closed his eyes in concentration and, a few seconds later, he and Flint vanished with a crack. Other cracks were audible up from other compartments.

People were scrambling back and forth in the corridor: a girl somewhere could be heard screaming. Judith chewed on her knuckle until it began to bleed.

Nymphadora put her arm around Harry and drew him close. With another crack, the boy reappeared in the doorway. Judith jumped forward and took his arm.

"No!" Nymphadora grabbed her hand, "Harry has to go next. He's younger. And he's important!"

Judith wailed and tried to shake her off. Harry pulled his knees up as Nymphadora got to her feet and began arguing with Judith, while the seventh year shouted at them to stop. Flint's silver case was knocked from the seat and burst open, spilling her black school robes across the floor and nearly tripping Judith up.

Then there came an enormous bang and the train itself rocked.

Screams rose in their multitudes. The seventh-year swore and apparated away with a crack. Judith babbled, pleading with thin air for him to come back and save her. Nymphadora tried to pull her into the compartment but Judith shoved her away and ran away down the corridor.

Harry put his head out and saw splintered wood on the floor further down the train. The doors had been completely blown of their hinges.

The people in the corridors were suddenly running away from the entrances. There were people coming onto the train: dark-robed people who were pushing children to the ground as they stepped into the corridors. Harry saw two fifth-years stand in the way of the aggressors, wands outstretched. One of the black-robed people lifted their own wand.

There was a flash of green light.

Harry looked away, horrified, not quite understanding but feeling bile rise in his throat. Nymphadora was bent over, bundling up Flint's discarded school robes. They looked about ten sizes too big for her.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. Nymphadora picked up the compact mirror Flint had been using. She looked into the mirror, and Harry, beginning to panic and wondering what she was wasting time for, wanted to knock it out of her hands.

"Come on," Tonks muttered to herself, "come on," she threw the robes to Harry, "get into these, quick."

Harry stared at her face. She seemed to have gone pale with fear. But it was more than that. She had gone so white she could not have been spotted in a snowstorm. Her face seemed to have formed a more rigid shape. Harry realised she was using her Metamorphmagus gift. Her features became smooth and blank, as if made of porcelein.

From a distance, it looked as if she was wearing a white mask.

Nymphadora threw the mirror aside, her face expressionless. She grabbed the robes Harry was holding dumbly in his arms and shook them out, them pulled them over her head, and over Harry's head as well, so that not an inch of him could be seen. His back was pressed up against Nymphadora so that, in the folds of the enormous robes, his shape did not show against her body. He could not see them, but he could imagine the effect: Nymphadora would look like nothing more than a particularly short adult wearing black robes and a mask.

Hidden inside the robes, it was pitch black, but Nymphadora's hands were on Harry's shoulders, and she pushed him out into the corridor. Swiftly but calmly, they walked down the train. Blind, Harry nearly tripped on what he realised was a body, although dead or just knocked out, he couldn't tell. He could hear people crying, screaming, begging for mercy, but Nymphadora lead him on. A masked adult ran past them in the corridor, but did not try to hinder them.

"We're at the door," Nymphadora whispered from above his head, "watch the steps."

Slowly, trying to coordinate two pairs of legs, they managed to climb off the train and onto the bank along which the rails ran. Harry could hear Nymphadora breathing fast and feeling her hands shaking, and realised she was terrified. They began to walk down the mound towards the forest.

"Hey!" a rough voice called, "hey, stop! What are you doing?"

Nymphadora threw off the robes, grabbed Harry's hand and began to run towards the trees, her face twisting and her normal features returning as they went. But another masked figure appeared in the forest. The two children veered sideways and dashed down the clear space alongside the train. Harry ran as fast as he could, but he was already beginning to feel giddy. He looked over his shoulder, and saw that there were more masked people running after then, shouting. A bolt of red light flew over Nymphadora's head.

Harry tried to run faster, but his legs were short and slow compared to the masked assailants' long stride.

There was no where else to run. Nymphadora was calling and waving her arms, "help! Please, help us!" but Harry could see no one around.

Then something was falling out of the sky towards them, someone riding a broom with red hair and a look of terror and resolve on their face.

------------------------

TBC


	6. Road to Salvation

A/N: I thought I'd answer some questions people had put to me at the start of the chapter, to clear certain things up.

THESE NOTES MAY ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS!

First, this story is AU – that's _Alternate Universe_. In this world, Sirius remained the Potters' secret keeper for three years longer than in canon. It was only in the last months prior to this story, when Sirius was promoted in the aurors and realised he was a danger to his friends if he was captured that the role of secret keeper to the Potters was switched to Peter Pettigrew – who subsequently betrayed them to Voldemort, as in canon.

Second, due to Sirius' capture, Dumbledore does not have a clue where Harry is or even whether he is still alive or not. Andromeda's letter was intercepted before it reached Dumbledore, hence the tip off that lead to the attack on the train, and the lack of protection that Dumbledore put on the train. THIS WAS AN UNEXPECTED ATTACK, since in normal circumstances Voldemort would have little to gain by killing Hogwarts students (many of which would be children of his own followers, or potential followers).

Before the attack on the train, pretty much everybody was focussed on the aftermath of the ministry attack, especially Dumbledore.

So what _does_ Dumbledore know, at this point? Very Little.

He knows the Potters are dead and Harry is missing. Even the _Daily Prophet_ knows this.

He does NOT know whether Harry is in friendly hands, captured by death eaters, or dead. He never got Andromeda's letter.

He knows Sirius, too, is missing – but as we shall see, many other aurors are also unaccounted for.

He does NOT know that Peter, not Sirius, was the Potters' secret keeper.

He is unsure as to where Sirius' loyalty lies. After the attack on the train, Dumbledore will probably suspect that the death eaters were looking for Harry, leading him to believe that, at least up until the attack, Harry was in safe hands.

He will quickly realise that in that case, _someone_ must have rescued Harry from Godric's hollow, and _someone_ must have interrupted the attack on the Potters, _probably_ Sirius or Peter – because again, he still thinks Sirius was the Potters' secret keeper and Peter was loyal.  
And on another note:

Remus is not an auror, though he is a member of the Order.

Whew. Well, I hope that helps. I'm sorry if I didn't make something clear in earlier chapters, I can't expect you all to psychically know what I'm thinking. And if you think anything is not obvious enough, please do tell me! It doesn't make you dumb, it just makes me too lazy! I want to know when I'm being too sneaky!

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Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

---------------------------

It was a boy on a broomstick, hurtling out of the sky and falling in a huddle at Nyphadora's feet. Harry recognised him as the red-haired second-year he had seen on the train. He was staring past them, his mouth hanging open. Nymphadora picked Harry up and sat him behind the boy, then threw her leg over the handle, jabbed the boy in the ribs to snap him out of his trance and yelled, "_fly_, or by God, I'll skin you!"

The boy had been gaping at the approaching death eaters, transfixed, but at the girl's feisty words he gripped the handle of the broom and kicked off from the ground. The extra weight made the broom sluggish to get airborne, and two more hexes shot past their ears, as a third chopped a few twigs from the tail of the broom. The nearest masked assailant made a dive for the three children, clawing at Nymphadora's ankle and trying to drag her to the ground. She pulled out her wand and, knowing not a single curse to cast on him, she just poked him in the eye of his mask with the end of her wand. He fell back with a cry.

The boy clearly knew how to handle a broomstick, and quickly compensated for the extra weight. They rocketed upwards, the ground dropping away below them. A barrage of curses following them into the sky while one death eater screamed in frustration. Harry was sandwiched between the two other children, his arms around the boy's waist and his faced pressed to the scratchy wool of his jersey. Nymphadora has stashed her wand back into her robes and had her own arms around the boy's shoulders. The stinging wind bit at Harry's cheeks, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

The boy turned his head and yelled at Nymphadora, "we have to go back! My older brother Bill is still down there somewhere!" The wind seemed to be making his eyes run, and a tear splattered against Harry's glasses.

"No!" Nymphadora shouted in return as the boy turned to circle the train once more, the wind nearly snatching her words away, "don't you dare turn back! Get us to safety first!"

The boy made some unintelligible comment and turned towards the forest. Harry looked down and felt dizzy and thrilled at the same time. The sensation of flight roared through him, terrifying and exhilarating. _This is what I want to do one day!_ He thought to himself.

The boy dipped the broomstick and they dove towards the forest.

"SLOW DOWN!" screeched Nymphadora, "WE'RE GOING TO CRASH…!"

CRUNCH. With an awful splintering sound, they dropped into the topmost branches of a large oak. For a few moments, nobody moved, and loud groans came from the two older children. Then Nymphadora slid off towards the trunk, looking decidedly ill, and clambered down onto a thicker bough where she tipped her head back to look up at the boy. Harry climbed down onto a branch next to her.

The boy sat, supported, it seemed, by nothing more than twigs, and stared at his broomstick, which had cracked in half, and splintered down its length, the handle hanging limply by a few slivers of wood. "It was brand new," he whispered. Then his face darkened, "I have to go back and look for my brother. What if he didn't make it off the train?"

"They weren't there to kill students," Nymphadora told him, "I think, once they realise they lost their target, they'll withdraw pretty quickly."

The boy looked at her, and then at Harry, "when we flew off – when they were hurling curses at us – one of them was yelling 'don't fire, don't knock them off the broom, the boy has to be alive.' What was it they were looking for, attacking the train like that?"

Nymphadora didn't answer. After a few moments of silence, the boy, said, "I'm Charlie, by the way."

"Tonks," Nymphadora replied, "and he's Harry."

"Pleased to meet you," said Harry, "I'm sorry about your broom. I liked it very much."

----------------------------

The three children trudged across the empty field, heads hanging in exhaustion. They had been walking for miles now, but the only sign of human life had been a few rugged farm roads. Charlie still carried his broken broom over his shoulder, reluctant to throw it away, even though he had grimly declared it was beyond repair. The clouds hung low overhead, occasionally letting loose a short trickle of rain onto the traveller's already miserable heads.

"Perhaps we should send sparks up into the air," suggested Charlie, "perhaps some of the other students will see. The prefects must be around somewhere."

"What if the death eaters see, and they find us?" Nymphadora pointed out.

Charlie pressed on, "all the death eaters were all back at the train."

"They'll be combing the countryside, looking for us," the girl replied, "so sure, if you'd like to end up dead, go ahead."

"There's no need to bite my head off," muttered Charlie, "It was just a suggestion."

"Well, I suggest you don't make any more of them," Nymphadora snapped.

"Sheesh, I didn't _ask_ for your company."

"Then maybe you should start walking in a different direction!"

"Hey, look!" said Harry. He grabbed Nymphadora's sleeve and bounced forward, "look there!"

Charlie raised his eyes wearily, "it's just another muggle road. A star teal one, that's all."

"It's called _tar seal_," Nymphadora corrected.

"That's not what my dad calls it, he's in charge of muggle artefacts at the ministry and _he_ calls is 'star teal'."

"Stop it!" Harry stomped his foot, "it _isn't_ just a road. I've seen that road. I flew down it, with my Dad. When we came to visit Moony!"

"What do you mean?" Nymphadora hurried on, with Harry dragging her towards the road by her sleeve, "who's Moony?"

"He lives here! He lives somewhere around here!" Harry could not contain his excitement. The horror of the attack on the train was lost against the thought of seeing his honorary uncle again, "his name's Remus Lupin. He looks after me lots. We went to visit him just last month, for Dad's birthday. Dad flew me around on his broomstick – he didn't go as high as you, though," he called to Charlie, who was scurrying to catch up with them.

"He's a wizard? And he's on the good side?" Charlie broke into a run and reached the road ahead of Harry and Nymphadora. They climbed the rock wall by the side of the road and stood in the middle of the black stretch, looking up and down it.

"Of course he is. He knows Dumbledore. He can find Sirius!" Harry whooped, "come on, I know his house is down this road somewhere, past the village."

"Past the village?"

"How far away does this Moony live?" Charlie asked suspiciously.

"I'm not sure," said Harry, "maybe half an hour by broomstick?"

Nymphadora sighed and Charlie groaned, looking at the sun which was rapidly heading towards the horizon.

"It's gonna be a long walk by moonlight," he said, as they followed the jubilant Harry towards the sunset.

-----------------------------------

"C-crucio!"

A million points of fire shot through his nerves: he was blind, deaf, senseless, every muscled tensed so that his body arched upwards, the wire binding his hands cutting deeper into his wrists, but he didn't notice, didn't even feel it…

It was over. Sirius' body tingled and ached, and he gasped for breath, surprised to find he was still alive. He opened his eyes a slit to see the man standing over him, the point of the wand trembling just under Sirius' chin.

"Not very imaginative," Sirius said, wishing immediately that he hadn't.

"Don't get smart!" the wizard jabbed at Sirius' throat, catching on his adam's apple, "you better tell me. You just better tell me where you hid the boy. He gotta still be in the city…"

Sirius didn't reply, and after a moment the man began again.

"_Crucio!_"

"Stop," he muttered, when it was over, "I'll tell you…"

The man's eyes glittered, "yes?"

"He's gone…I broke into a house and used the Floo network…I sent him to a safe house in Bristol…"

"Liar! _Crucio!_"

It seemed to go on for a lifetime. Sirius hung limply from the water pipe, mumbling incoherently.

"What was that? Are you telling the truth, now?"

Sirius mumbled again.

The man leaned forward eagerly so his face was inches from Sirius' nose, "what did you say? Tell me!"

"What I said was, 'Masturbation makes you deaf!" Sirius arched his body and brought his knee up and onto the underside of the man's jaw, and the crack echoed around the room. The man gave a squeal of pain and fell forward, rolling off the iron bench and sliding to the floor in a crumpled heap next to his dead companion. He didn't move, though his chest could be seen rising and falling.

"Death eaters these days are so gullible," Sirius muttered to himself. The man's wand was lying on the floor within easy reach. But how to get to it without magic?

After a moment the obvious answer hit him. He kicked off his shoes and stretched his leg out, curling his toes around the handle of the wand. He managed to pick it up with his toes and then wriggled himself into a more comfortable position. His body still felt weak and shivery from the unforgivable curse the man had cast on him, _and_ he was still stuck, even if he had a wand now. But try as he might, he couldn't do more than shoot sparks while holding the wand with his feet.

_Dammit!_ He was in just as bad a predicament as he had been ten minutes ago, although at least no one was torturing him now. But the unconscious wizard on the floor was bound to wake up soon enough, and then Sirius would be back to square one.

He'd have to bluff his way out. The man was drunk after all, and _he_ didn't know that you couldn't cast spells with your feet. A few sparks and some tough talk might convince him to obey Sirius, at least long enough for him to untie his bonds.

Then suddenly there were clunking footsteps coming down the stairs and voices floated through the crack in the door.

"In here!" Sirius yelled, "hey, in here! I need a hand!"

The voices stopped and the door was pushed fully open. With the light shining from behind them, Sirius couldn't see the faces of his rescuers, but he felt relief spread over his own features.

"Who is it?" a man's voice asked as he came into the room, "who are you?" he tripped on the leg of the dead man and gaped, "oh my gosh! It's Quirce, and Laxman!" He squinted at Sirius, "who are you? What's happened here?"

The figure behind him suddenly broke into raucous female laughter. Laughter which Sirius recognised very clearly. His heart plummeted into his stomach and his toes clutched instinctively at the useless wand.

"Look, Avery!" sneered Bellatrix Lestrange, coming into the room so that Sirius could see her face, "it's my dear mudblood-loving cousin, all tied up and nowhere to run. Looks like Laxman did something right for once. Oh, can I stun him, can I _please_?"

"Be my guest," said the death eater called Avery.

"Bollocks," said Sirius quietly.

----------------------------

TBC


	7. The Cottage in the Rain

A/N: Once again, a long chapter. But this one was most satisfying to write.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

------------------------------

The sun was beginning to set when the three exhausted young wizards reached the small village that the road lead to. They staggered down the main street, Harry yawning, Nymphadora muttering furiously and Charlie just looking downcast. They passed a few muggles walking home in the dusk, but did not greet them. The villagers, mostly elderly, peered at them suspiciously and went on their way. When the children saw a bench outside the local grocery store all three dropped onto with a sigh.

"I'm not used to legs. What's the point of legs when you've got broomsticks? Using your legs should be illegal," Charlie mumbled.

"We haven't got a broomstick any more, _that's_ the point," Nymphadora replied, but she no longer sounded angry. In fact, she almost sounded affectionate.

"We've got to ask a muggle for help," Charlie said, "my Dad says country muggles are really helpful when you're in a fix. They'll feed us and everything. They've got barns that you can sleep in."

"We have to find Moony," Harry piped up.

"I know, kid, I know," Nymphadora patted his arm, "but we're too tired to walk any further tonight," she raised her head and looked around. They had come to a halt in the one shopping area of town, and small stores selling everything from baby shoes to buzz saws lined the street. The grocery behind them was closed, as were most of the other shops.

"Isn't there anyone awake in this town?" she muttered.

As if in answer, a light came on in the tiny, two-story building across the road. The bottom window seemed to lead through to a small bookstore, but a sign that pointed to the upper storey declared DENTIST STUDIO in large black letters. As they watched, a man came trudging down the illuminated stairs and switched off the light when he reached the bottom.

"There," said Nymphadora, "come on, that's our muggle. How do I look?" she turned to face them. Charlie crammed his fist to his mouth to contain his giggles.

Harry said very earnestly. "Your freckles are too big."

Nymphadora had apparently decided to mimic Charlie's features, but she still needed a lot of practise with her metamorphmagus gift. Her hair had turned a bloody shade of crimson and her face was covered in enormous, irregularly shaped spots.

"Oh," Nymphadora frowned and the huge brown dots receded until they more or less looked like regular freckles, although they still appeared to have been applied by a toddler with a ball point pen, "well, quick, before he gets away."

"I'm not sure," Charlie and Harry trailed after Nymphadora, who was walking briskly across the road to intercept the muggle. The man was heading for a car parked not far away, "I'm think my Dad said something about muggle dentists being dangerous…"

"Excuse me, sir!" Nymphadora waved at the muggle, who looked up at the sound of her voice. He wore thin spectacles on his friendly face, and had dark, curly brown hair, "please, we need help!"

"What's happened?" the muggle asked, blinking at the sight of the three youngsters who had just emerged from the shadows.

To Harry's surprise, tears of the crocodile nature were pouring down Nymphadora's face, "we're awfully lost, sir," she sniffed, "we can't get home, and it's dark, and oh, oh…won't you help us?"

"There now, don't worry," the man looked confused but desperate not to upset the young girl any further, "there's a phone in my office upstairs, would you like to come and use it to call your parents?"

"Er," Nymphadora had not anticipated this, "er…no, you see, our families are on holiday and…we don't know the phone number of the house they're staying at. But we know where the house is," she added.

The man glanced around as if hoping some other solution would pop out of thin air, but when nothing appeared, he said hesitantly, "well, I live just down the road. I'll take you there and you can explain the situation to me. How's that?"

"Yes, thank you _so_ much," Nymphadora said, taking Harry's hand.

-----------------------------

The muggle lived in a small flat not far away. When they got there, he sat them down at the table and brewed up three cups of warm milo while Nymphadora began weaving a suitably heart-warming tale of adventure and desperation. The muggle's wife, a bushy haired lady with rather large teeth, was surprised to see what her husband had brought home but evidently not too concerned.

"I'll just go put Hermione to bed, then I'll be back down again," she said, heading up the stairs.

Nymphadora began to explain their situation, "my name is Dora and this is my brother Charlie and my cousin Harry," she said, her tears completely gone. In the warm light of the kitchen her morphed red hair and freckles did give her a striking resemblance to Charlie, "we're on holiday with our parents and some family friends in their cottage, but today we went on a picnic and the three of us wandered away from the adults and got lost. We found a road that took us here and now we're trying to make our way to the house of Remus Lupin who is…er…"

"My dad," Harry improvised for her.

"His dad, yeah," Nymphadora nodded, "he'll be able to contact our parents and tell them we're safe. Harry knows where the house is, but we don't know exactly how far away it is and we don't want to walk there in the dark."

The muggle nodded seriously, as if he didn't believe a word of Nymphadora's story, and said heavily, "alright, if you can give me directions I'll drive you there tonight. But I'd like a word with your mum and dad about parental responsibility once they've got you back."

------------------------------

"Here," Harry bounced in his seat and pointed to a gravel path that lead off the main road just ahead. It was raining now and the muggle had to squint as he pulled over, his headlights illuminating the path as he passed it. Thick, stunted bushes lined the road on either side of the path, which was barely wide enough for three people to walk abreast, let alone large enough to drive a car down.

"This is as far as you need to go," Nymphadora opened the door, "thank you ever so much. We'll appreciate it for ever and ever."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" the muggle got out to peer down the gloomy path. Through the pouring rain he could see the golden lights of a distant house. But the strange red-haired girl shook her head.

"Really, we can take care of ourselves from here," she promised, waving a piece of paper from her pocket, "and we've got your phone number. We'll call you as soon as we get back with our parents," she took the hand of her little 'cousin', who was eagerly straining ahead, and the three children headed away down the small path, turning once to wave before they vanished into the rain.

The muggle, Mr Granger, sighed and got back into his car. He strongly suspected the kids might be strays, runaways from home. He hoped his own daughter never got involved with tearaway children like that. It could only lead to trouble.

----------------------------

As they drew nearer to the small house, Harry broke away from Nymphadora and scrambled up the path, so that she and Charlie had to run to catch up. He stood on the front step of the small cottage and tugged insistently on a large iron knocker fastened to the front door, knocking as loudly as a toddler can when he can barely reach the door knocker. The cottage itself was small and ramshackle, with sturdy brick walls and windows that were too small for an adult to climb through. Nymphadora noticed curiously that there were large bolts on the outside of the door, and a formidable brass lock.

"Moony!" Harry was calling, "Moony, open up! Hello?"

Above Harry's shouting, Nymphadora thought she heard the sound of footsteps and she found she was tensed with anticipation. She feared whatever might open that door – death eater, traitor? Was the occupant of the house friend or foe? Harry seemed assured of their loyalty but he was, after all, only four years old – and she found herself gripping Charlie's wrist in one hand and her near-useless wand in the other.

And then they heard a handle on the other side of the wood turning and the door swung open. A man stood there, lean and kindly looking. His light brown hair was flecked with grey, his chin trimmed with a short, neat beard, and his well-worn robes were patched and faded. He looked out into the rain with sleepy curiosity, at Nymphadora whose hair had returned to golden and whose freckles had vanished, at Charlie with his flaming red locks, and then down at the boy standing at his knee-level and looking up at him with a face full of delight.

He stared at Harry for what seemed, to Nymphadora, nearly a full thirty seconds. Nobody spoke, the silence broken only by the rain drumming on the tiled roof. Then the man stepped out into the rain, bent and swept Harry up in his arms. He spun around once with vitality that seemed uncharacteristic of him, and Nymphadora could not tell if there was rain on his face, or tears. Then he just stood, holding Harry with the boy's arms around his neck.

"Alive," he said, after a moment, "I could barely hope – _alive!_"

"It's wet out here," said Harry, tugging at his friend's beard.

"Yes, yes of course it is," he took account of Nymphadora and Charlie at last, "goodness, three in one night – come in, all of you, come in by the fire and tell me everything," his voice was sleepy and husky.

Nymphadora and Charlie looked at one another, and then, since the man was standing and watching them as if waiting for a response, Nymphadora said, "that would be wonderful, thanks," and allowed him to lead them into the house.

There seemed to be only the one room, which comprised of kitchen, dining room, lounge and bedroom all at once. The floor was unvarnished boards, and the furniture, though there seemed a lot of it in the small space, was as worn and aged as the man's robes. A fire crackled in the grate across the room, and the fireplace, topped with a near-empty box of floo powder, seemed far too big for the tiny cottage. A few scattered photographs hung from the walls, and shelves were crammed against every vertical surface, upholding magical clocks, carvings, plants, boxes, jars, household tools, more photographs in frames, and rows upon rows of books of every conceivable size and shape.

The man, Lupin, lowered Harry onto the couch in front of the fire and dragged over a rocking chair for himself, so that Charlie and Nymphadora could also seat themselves on the couch. He at once made them offers of blankets, tea, biscuits, soup and bread, and both older children, feeling their stomachs rumble, took advantage of each one. When the man brought the mugs, bowls and plates of food, Nymphadora found herself feeling guilty even as she ate. By the look of this man's abode and his clothes, they were probably eating him out of house and home.

Harry took only a biscuit and a blanket, and Lupin, nothing at all. He waited for the children to eat their fill, watching Harry with tender eyes.

At last, as Nymphadora chewed on a slice of home-baked bread and Charlie sipped at the soup, the man asked softly, "what are you doing out here?"

This question provoked answers the children were reluctant to speak of. Finally Nymphadora spoke up.

"The train was attacked," she said sadly, swallowing her bread, "the Hogwarts Express. The death eaters – I think they were looking for Harry. Lots of the kids escaped, but…not all. Charlie flew the two of us away on his broomstick, but we crashed and since then we've just been walking. A muggle gave us a ride when it got dark."

Lupin bent his head, "that is sad news," he said quietly, "the Hogwarts Express – I've long believed it was an asylum from this war, as Hogwarts itself is," he turned to Harry, "but how did _you_ get on that train? I understand that you're bound to be talented, Harry, but surely Hogwarts is not accepting students quite so young!"

Harry shook his head, "Tonks' mum Andromeda took me there, so that I could get to Hogwarts."

"Andromeda Black? And why were you in _her_ keeping?"

"Sirius told me she would look after me. I've been looking for _you_," Harry said proudly, "and I've found you now! You have to help me find Sirius."

"Sirius?" Lupin's face had grown grim.

"Yes," Harry said, apparently oblivious to the change in mood that was overtaking the young man, "yes, because he's disappeared, and he might be hurt, or dead like – like Mum and Dad!" he burst out.

Lupin looked at his young charge, "Harry, you may not understand this until you are older, but Sirius…may well be the _reason_ your mother and father are dead."

Harry stared at him, with an expression of simple confusion.

Lupin slumped a little, "you cannot believe how glad I am to see you, Harry. When I saw the newspaper, with your house, burned…and they said your parents bodies had been found…oh," he touched his forehead, "I'm sorry, Harry, I shouldn't bring that up yet. But indeed, I can barely conceive that you are sitting before me today, alive and whole! Oh, Harry, you cannot comprehend the danger you have been in, and threats you must have avoided along the way!"

Harry shook his head, very slowly, "what did you mean about Sirius?"

Lupin put his hands together in his lap, "Harry, Sirius was…it's hard to explain. He was the only person who could reveal your parents' whereabouts to the dark lord. He has…he betrayed them to you-know-who."

The blanket slipped off Harry's shoulders, but he did not seem to notice, "that isn't right," he told Lupin, "you've made a mistake. Sirius _saved _me!"

This seemed to interest Lupin, "he tried to escape with you? Harry, he could not have been taking you to safety, but to his master," Lupin's face contorted at this word, as if it tasted extremely bitter, "he would have handed you over to you-know-who."

Harry stood up, "you're not listening," he said loudly. Charlie and Nymphadora watched in silence, surprised by the emotion their small friend was now displaying, "Sirius rescued me from the house! _He_ was there – the man with the red eyes – he killed Mum!" Harry was nearly shouting now, "he killed her, and I was there, and then he came for me – but he got hurt, and fell out the window. And then Sirius was there too, and he chased the man away, I _saw_ him! And Sirius took me to London, and told me I had to get to Dumbledore, and that Dumbledore had to see _this-_" he raised his hand and lifted his fringe, and the half-healed wound on his forehead seemed illuminated with a sickly red glow in the light from the fire. His impassioned speech abruptly finished, Harry stood trembling, still brandishing the scar for Lupin to see.

"My goodness," Lupin leaned forward to look at the scar, "but then…who could possibly have revealed Lily and James…" and his eyes widened, his hand flew to his mouth, "no. It couldn't be Peter. He was here, this morning, in my house!" he was gripping the arm of the rocking chair so tight his knuckles were white, "I _comforted_ him, grieved with him! He…." Suddenly his expression became fierce, and he seemed to be speaking to himself rather than the three children, "he wanted to know if I had heard any news about Harry. He wanted to know whether Sirius had contacted me, if I had any clue about Harry's whereabouts. And it didn't even occur to me…I didn't even wonder – why he never – once – asked – whether you were alive or dead!" Fury overtook Lupin's features, "I was too sunk in guilt and anger at Sirius to even be suspicious, that Peter already seemed _certain_ you were alive!"

Harry approached Lupin, who was visibly shaking with rage. He touched his hand gently, then, as Lupin bowed his head, Harry climbed into his friend's lap. Lupin put his arms around the small boy and began to weep.

"Forgive me, Harry," he sobbed, "and may they forgive me too."

-----------------------------

TBC


	8. Hestia Jones

A/N: Well, longest chapter ever. Tell me what you think of this one, I'm not so sure about it myself. What are your gut feelings about the characterisation I've given Hestia Jones?

WARNING: just to be on the safe side, I thought I should warn that some parts of this chapter unsettled me when I was writing it. Nothing is mentioned by name, and probably most of you are completely desensitised to that sort of thing, practised fanfic readers that you are! But I'm Just being on the safe side.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

--------------------------------

Sirius awoke slowly, wishing that he didn't have to. Jagged pains shot through his whole body. Being an auror had its ups and downs. This was definitely not one of the lighter sides of the career.

He could hear footsteps and voices through the ceiling above him, but nothing loud enough to interest him. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, now, and he saw at once that he was not alone. The death eaters' bodies had been removed, but two new figures had been thrown into the makeshift dungeon, both bound and blindfolded as far as Sirius could tell.

"Hey," he whispered, "are you awake?"

One of the figures, who was lying on her back a few feet away, stirred and turned her sightless face towards him, "who is that?" it was a woman's voice, although he had already recognised that. What surprised him was that he knew the voice.

"Jones?"

"Black? Is that you?"

"Yeah," said Sirius, "in the flesh." He was relieved to hear friendly words, and at the same time, sorry to see the black-haired, rosy-cheeked young woman captured in such a position. Hestia Jones had just finished her auror training two years ago, and Sirius had worked extensively with her, in and out of ministry duty.

"Oh," she said, sitting up and rubbing her head. Her hands were tied in front of her, "I could hear someone breathing, but I couldn't tell who…I just thought I'd pretend I was still stunned."

"Yes, I imagine my breathing is that scary. Who is that with you?"

Hestia lowered her hands and felt around on the ground until she found the hand of the second prone figure, "it's Eddie. Eddie Perkins – from the muggle artefacts department, you know. I was at the ministry doing paperwork when the they attacked, and there were only three of us there, so he came to fight with us. But we were in the lower levels, so when your reinforcements arrived to help us we were already trapped. He was standing next to me – oh, crap, oh man…Sirius, he's bled so much. I don't think he's going to wake up."

She sniffed and clawed hopelessly at her blindfold, "it's too tight…"

"You'll have to undo it from the back," he suggested, wondering whether or not to comfort her about Perkins. The misuse of muggle artefacts office was on the same level as auror headquarters, but he knew the man only by acquaintance. He remembered that Perkins had stood up and spoken in a meeting about the plumbing about a month ago, but he didn't think that warranted Sirius' open grieving over him. And he didn't want to embarrass Hestia by mothering her.

"I can't reach the knot," her wrists were tied in such a way as to make it impossible for her to reach far enough over her head to untie to blindfold, "don't you have a spare hand?"

"Not really," he said, "but, look, come here and I'll give it a shot."

Hestia got to her feet and shuffled forward until she walked into the iron bench, cracking her shins. She swore loudly, "where are you?"

"Sitting right in front of you. My hands are tied to the water pipe above my head," Sirius told her.

"Well that's no good! Why didn't you tell me that before I broke my kneecaps?"

"I'm sorry. If you turn around and lean back, I'm sure I can get the knot."

Several more minutes of manoeuvring and useless instructions from Sirius ("move a little to the left – no, _my_ left –") and they ended up with Hestia sitting practically on her fellow auror's lap. After a bit of wriggling, and Hestia pinching him whenever he got her hair caught in the knot, they managed to undo the blindfold and she pulled it off in relief. The two aurors looked at one another.

"We're not making it out of this one, are we?" Hestia asked finally. Sirius looked away, unable to answer.

"Tell me everything that has happened. You were captured at the ministry. Who else?"

"Yes, by the fountain," she nodded, "but not many of us were with me by that time. I know that Moody had called a retreat, so I think mostly they got away. I was trying to help Perkins, and I didn't see a stunner coming at me. I woke up in the room upstairs, so I haven't seen anyone else who was captured."

"You-know-who didn't lead the attack. Do you know why?"

"No. It sounds as if the death eaters got a bit confused towards the end – it sounded like he was _supposed_ to turn up and didn't. So once they had overrun the ministry, a lot of them scattered. There was a woman upstairs-"

"Bellatrix. What did you hear when you were up there?"

"Bellatrix. She was in trouble with a man upstairs because she and someone named Avery killed another death eater named Laxman, because Laxman killed another death eater named Quirce. But Laxman had important information which he didn't tell anyone about before he died."

Sirius' heart leaped. Hestia continued, but he was listening with only half an ear. Laxman had died before he could impart his information to Avery and Bellatrix – that could only mean information about Harry. So Harry was still safe, still had not fallen into death eater hands – perhaps, Sirius thought suddenly, Avery and Bellatrix had not even connected Sirius with Harry.

"…we're still in London, I'm sure of it. I could hear the muggle cars when I was upstairs, so we must be a busy part of town. This seems to have been Laxman's apartment, but the other death eaters have taken it over."

"Anything else you picked up?"

"There's a fireplace. I felt the heat on my face, and I could hear it crackling. If they're keeping a fire burning, they must be using floo powder pretty regularly."

"That's good news," said Sirius, "that gives us an escape route if we can get to it."

Hestia nodded, "can you apparate? I think they've put a spell on me."

He shook his head, "we're in the same predicament."

The young woman sighed, "like in Romania last year. What a mess that was."

"Oh, yes. Romania. What a riot. I mean, what with trying to catching illegal smugglers _and_ evacuate a village full of muggles who don't speak a word of English and still think witch burning is a good weekend hobby, I just about handed in my resignation on the spot. And then there were those dugbogs in the marsh-"

Hestia grinned at the memory, "Yes, and Diggle slipped into the water, and three of the things latched onto his ankle-"

"And he started screaming 'Crocodiles! Crocodiles!' Just as the dragon-poachers were walking by on the road above us."

Hestia and Sirius both collapsed into giggles, crying 'crocodiles!' together in a high-pitched voice. Sirius recovered first, wiping his mirthful tears on his shoulders, "oh, I've never seen Kingsley so angry in my life. Thank God Diggle isn't an auror, he would have been fired on the spot. It took us so long to convince him that there _aren't_ any crocodiles in Romania!"

Hestia leaned against his leg to keep herself from falling over, "Yes, and then when we got back to camp he _insisted_ on apparating to the nearest muggle town to buy a pair of wellington boots! And when we chased after him, Edgar Bones followed us, but he apparated right into the middle of a muggle funeral-"

"-on top of the coffin being carried down the street. I wish I'd had a camera with me."

"Wouldn't have done you much good, lying on your back in the gutter because you couldn't stand up for laughing, while an entire town of black-clad muggles chased Edgar down the road."

Sirius assumed a horrified face, "I was _not_ lying in the gutter!"

Hestia laughed again, "you must have repressed the memory."

They talked about other adventures they had had for the next hour. Even the grimmest situations – a necromancer about to sacrifice Sirius for a dark spell by slitting his throat (Hestia, Emmeline Vance and Gideon Prewitt broke in and rescued him with mere minutes to spare) – finding the mangled bodies of two ministry workers stuffed in the closet of a suspected death eater – watching a fellow auror drown while they fought in vain to reach him – seemed tame and amusing compared to their current position.

"And that time when we were taking old MacDougall to Azkaban?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, "what _happened_ up there?"

"You mean, when the portkey suspiciously stopped working, so we had fly him over on broomsticks? And then his sons turned up to rescue him."

"All I remember was shooting a spell and watching two bodies falling through the air, and having to take a wild guess at which one was you, which one I needed to catch."

"Lucky you guessed right," she shuffled around, her eyes sparkling, "ok, I'll tell you about that one, that was so exciting. There I was, a hundred feet above the churning ocean waves, rain just _bucketing_ down around my ears, and there's this _massive_ warlock on a broom in front of me, and the two of us are battling it out, wand to wand combat on broomsticks. He's firing stunner after stunner at me, and I'm dodging all of them, and trying to get a disarming spell in between. And suddenly he fires something at me, six blue shots that chase me through the air, and I'm flying off trying to get away but two of these things hit me in the back, like a couple of mad bludgers, and I slip off my broom and just manage to grab the handle as I go. Now I'm _hanging_ a hundred feet up, my wand is spinning away towards the sea, and this guy points at me and shoots an incendiary spell, and obviously, I don't want to catch fire at two hundred feet, so, I let go-"

"You _let go?_" Sirius gaped at her, "_that's_ why you fell?"

"Well, all I could think was, do I want to die from falling or do I want to burn to death? And I just picked the former."

"But – Hestia – it was _raining!_ The incendiary spell wouldn't have worked!"

Hestia pulled a guilty face, "yeah, but I didn't think about that until afterwards, did I? Anyway, it worked out, because at that moment, your spell knocked him out, and you caught me before I got anywhere _near_ hitting the water."

"And nearly broke my arms! What had you eaten for breakfast that morning, a tonne of bricks?"

"Hey, there's no need to get personal-" her voiced trailed off as the sound of footsteps on the stairs reached their ears. Sirius felt his heart begin racing once more. The door creaked open and a cloaked figure came into the room.

"You, girl, you're coming with me," the man rasped, and he pounced on Hestia, who wriggled away into the corner with a growl. As the man reached for her, she brought her arms up and smacked him in the face as hard as she could with her bound hands. The wizard staggered and touched his cheek, then brought back his fist and punched the young witch so hard she rolled onto the concrete floor and her head hit the ground with a thump.

"Leave her!" Sirius roared, kicking out at the man, but the wizard darted out of reach. He waved his wand, "_mobili corpus,"_ and Hestia was lifted up and levitated out the door. The man pointed his wand at Sirius as he left, "you watch or, or you'll be next," he laughed and slammed the door shut. It had happened so quickly.

"Hestia!"

He listened in vain for her voice – or her screams – but there was nothing.

"Hestia!"

No answer. Nothing.

------------------------------------

He was exhausted, but unable to sleep, and as the agonising wait turned from a few minutes into an hour, with nothing but Perkins' soft and ragged breathing to listen to, Sirius' thoughts became increasingly morbid as he admitted to himself for the first time that he was, in all likelihood, going to die soon, not quickly and not pleasantly, and there was nothing he could do to change it. What frustrated him the most was that he now seemed to have lost his only ally. Guilt tormented him at the thought of why Hestia had been taken. Somehow, it was his fault that she was suffering instead of him. These thoughts went on and on until he felt as if he was going mad.

Then the door was thrown open and Sirius blinked against the light as Hestia was pushed roughly into the dungeon and they were thrown into darkness once more. For a few moments there was silence, but for the quiet little sobs from the other side of the room.

"Hestia?" Sirius asked, "are you hurt? What did they do?"

"D-don't touch me, just don't," she said savagely, and the quiet sobbing continued.

Sirius understood at once what had happened and fury boiled up in him, "bastards! I'll kill them – I will, Hestia, I'll get them – those goddamn beasts…"

"Stop it," said Hestia, and he was quiet instantly. She sniffed once then said weakly, "I just don't want to talk about it now. Please don't," Sirius could see her shape shuffle across the floor until she was kneeling beside the prone figure still lying on the concrete.

"Poor Perkins," she said sadly, "and yet, he's lucky…oh!" she jumped, "he's awake!"

Sirius strained his eyes in the darkness and saw Hestia bending over the stricken ministry worker, holding his hand and whispering to him. Perkins coughed, and it sounded as if his lungs were filled with mud.

"Hello. Who's that?" Sirius heard his rasp.

"It's Hestia Jones, Mr Perkins. I'm an auror. You fought with us in the ministry, do you remember?"

"Miss Jones," Perkins coughed again, "you're a dear for sticking with me. Can't you turn on the lights so that I can see you?" He trailed off into muttering that Sirius couldn't catch.

Hestia paused, then said, "I'm sorry, Mr Perkins. But we're not in the hospital. I'm afraid – after you were hurt, the death eaters overwhelmed us, and they've got us now…"

Silence followed this, then Perkins said sadly, "ah, well, I've had a good run while it lasted. I'm sorry you had to go with me, Hestia. I hope you have a chance. I'm sorry to see a good girl go young."

"Th-that's alright, Mr Perkins. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"If you do get out of this…I mean to say, I won't…so could you tell…a few people…"

"Of course," Sirius listened silently while Perkins gave Hestia a number of names and messages for Perkins' family and friends.

When he was finished he said, "do you know, I think perhaps I have something for you."

"What's that, Mr Perkins?"

"In my…in the right pocket of my cloak, there is a bag of marbles – they were muggle marbles which someone tried to enchant into gobstones – but I'm afraid all they do is explode horribly. Some poor muggle boy got his hand blown off when he was playing with them. You have to throw them with reasonable force, but perhaps you could – find a use for them…ah, my chest is aching…"

Silence fell once more, "he's passed out again," Hestia said. Sirius saw her reach into Perkins' pocket and pull out a small leather bag.

"Three," she said, "do you think he meant it – he wasn't delusional from his wounds?"

"He seemed to be in his right mind," Sirius replied. Hestia put the bag of marbles into her pocket and came over to him. She knelt on the floor with her elbows on the bench and her chin balanced on her knuckles.

"Tell me what's going on," she said, and there was a coldness in her voice, "tell me now."

"What's to tell?"

Hestia's bound hands balled into fists, "don't you dare joke about this. Just don't. When they…when they questioned me, they kept asking, 'what does Dumbledore know about the boy?' And then they were asking, 'does he know the boy is alive? Is he going to try to take him back? When?' And I kept telling them, I don't know, I don't know anything, but they didn't stop…" she began to shake, and her head bent and was covered by her hands.

"Hestia, shush," Sirius wanted to put his arms around her, as he might have comforted a weeping Harry who had grazed his knee. Unable to hold her, he managed to lean down far enough to kiss the top of her head, "it's alright. I'll tell you what I can. But you must understand, this is more important than my life – than _both_ our lives. I'm sorry you've been dragged into this, but I am willing to die to protect certain secrets."

Hestia wiped her eyes and leaned her head against his knee, "I'm an auror," she said, "this is what I chose."

"The boy the death eaters spoke of is my godson. He is four years old, and he has a task he must do that makes him more important than any other single witch or wizard in this war. Even Dumbledore would die for this child."

"This has something to do with a prophecy. They asked me what the prophecy meant."

"Yes, a prophecy, and murder, and a scar," Sirius said wearily, "but I'm sure they know all this already. All that matters is that they must not lay hands on my godson…"

Hestia's eyes widened, "but they already have him, upstairs."

Sirius' head snapped around he stared at Hestia, and all the colour that had been in his face drained away, "w-what?"

Hestia put her hands over her mouth, "they brought him in by floo powder while I was up there. A little boy, about four years old, looking terrified. Bellatrix said the dark lord had murdered his parents but was saving him for later…"

Cold, sharp ice slammed through Sirius' chest. No. No, it couldn't be true. There was a mistake. It must have been some _other_ boy…

What did you expect? Did you expect him to be safe in that department store? Did you think the death eaters wouldn't retrace your steps – or did you hope by some miracle that he would escape by himself?

If I had gotten the message to Andromeda – If I hadn't waited to send the message – 

_I shouldn't have gone into that department store in the first place…I shouldn't have even gone to London, I should have just gone to Moony's cottage…I shouldn't have left by floo powder: I should have taken James' broom…shouldn't have looked out the window and seen Him…shouldn't have trusted Peter…_

…_shouldn't have trusted Peter…_

"Sirius?" Hestia touched his shoulder in alarm, "hey, it didn't look like they were going to hurt him. He was scared, but he wasn't hurt…Sirius, please don't break down now, I need you. Please…"

He couldn't hear her. The death eaters had taken Harry. He, Sirius, had failed his godson. He had failed Lily and James. He had even failed Dumbledore. They were dead, and soon Harry would die with them, and then there would be nothing that could stop Voldemort.

Voldemort. The name tasted caustic in his mind.

"Sirius, listen to me!" Hestia shook his roughly, "we're going to save him. Tomorrow, Avery is going to take me upstairs again. I know he will. And I won't fight, I won't give him an excuse to hex me. I'll just act like I'm broken already. And I won't talk."

Sirius shook his head, "doesn't matter now. Tell them everything you can, Hestia, maybe they'll spare you. Doesn't matter any more."

"No, I'm not going to talk because I'm going to have one of the exploding gobstones in my mouth," said Hestia, "and as soon as he's alone with me I'm going to spit it in his face with all the force I've got."

He raised his head, "you think that'll work?"

"It will work," said Hestia. She did not sound convinced, but she looked him in the eyes when she said it, "and I'll get the kid and I'll run. And any distraction you can give me will be enough."

Her eyes were steely and determined. She was an auror, and she was doing her duty for the good of wizard kind. And for Sirius.

"Then I'll get you a distraction," said Sirius, "if you can get me off this iron bench, I'll get them distracted, don't you worry."

"I'm not worried," said Hestia, reaching up to start working at the wire that bound Sirius' hands, "I've got you here."

--------------------------------------

TBC


	9. Arrival at St Mungo's

A/N: this chapter just frustrated me. Have patience with it, please.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

-----------------------------------

"Got it!"

"You got it?" Sirius tried to lower his arms, and to his surprise, they lowered. Hestia sat on the edge of the bench grinning at him, holding a length of wire in her hands.

"God, that hurts," Sirius stared at his wrists, which were raw and bloody in a ring where the wire had cut into them. As if barely able to believe his luck, he got to his feet and stretched. His knees nearly gave way at once – he had been sitting on that bench for two days now. He steadied himself, and then raised his arms and spun twice in a circle like a dancer, pirouetting across the room, bouncing off the wall and twirling back to kiss Hestia on the cheek and then circle the cellar twice more.

"Don't get too excited," Hestia warned him, smiling quietly, "I have to wire you back to that pipe before they come down here the check on us."

Sirius sighed and sat back onto the bench, "yes, better do it now. They actually brought me a dish of water yesterday around this time."

While she twisted the wires loosely around his wrists, in such a way that would give the appearance of knots but which could be pulled apart easily, Hestia began to talk seriously once more, "tomorrow. What will you do?"

"What will _you_ do?" Sirius countered, "do you even know where Harry will be? Do you have an idea of how to reach him?"

"The apartment's not big," said Hestia, "if he isn't in one room, he'll be in the other. Tonight, we should try and untie my hands. I'll jump Avery, take his wand, grab the boy – Harry. I'll grab him and jump into the fireplace. I saw where they kept the floo powder yesterday."

"You think you can hold off Bellatrix, Avery and anyone else who is up there, while carrying a toddler in your arms and throwing floo powder onto a fire at the same time?"

"If you help me," she retorted, "what will _you_ do?"

He paused. He didn't want to tell Hestia he was an animagus. It was, after all, a secret he had kept for more than a decade now. He settled with, "I'll make a scene, don't you worry. I just have to get off this iron bench first, it's what's holding me back."

"But you'll be locked down here!"

"I'll make noise," he said, "real loud. When you hear the noise stop, that means they've opened the door to see what I'm doing. Then you try to take Avery. Not until then, or else they won't unlock the door for me."

"Alright."

"I'll come up the stairs and just tear into them. You won't recognise me, but just trust that I'm not going to hurt you. Most especially, don't wait for me. All that matters is getting Harry out."

She nodded, "and you'll do all this without magic?"

He grinned, "I'll do it all without my _wand_, that much is sure."

--------------------------------

When they awoke in the morning, Perkins was dead. Hestia and Sirius laid him in the corner of the room and covered his face with his jacket. Neither of them had any time to shed a tear for him, but Sirius could hear Hestia muttering the names and messages Perkins had given her for his family under her breath.

-------------------------------

It happened just as before. Avery came, grabbed a struggling Hestia, paused to taunt Sirius, and then slammed the door and locked it. Sirius waited for nearly a minute, wanting to leap to his feet at once, but he forced himself to wait.

Once he could stand it no longer, he wriggled his wrists out of the loose wire, accidentally tearing at the raw skin so that he had to bite back a cry. He got off the bench and knelt on the concrete, trying to rid himself of the awful magic-sapping iron taste. Then he transformed.

Sirius was gone. There was only a huge black dog, lying on the floor, panting nervously. The dog rolled over and got to its feet. The dingy, empty cellar was suddenly alight with smells, human smells and the stale scent of Perkins' body, which was not quite cold yet. After a moment, it tipped back its head and began to howl. It was an enormous sound, reverberating up through the floorboards and into the apartment above.

The dog howled again, and again, changing pitch and tone and interspersing the symphony with loud barks. For a while, the dog thought that no one was coming – its plan to escape had failed – but, at last, it picked up a change in the tone of the voices, and then footsteps on the stairs. It kept howling. The click of a magical lock, the turn of a door handle, and then the racket ceased.

The door opened and a man the dog did not recognise stood there. He had less than a second before something huge and black, with glittering eyes, leapt out of the darkness of the cellar and slammed into him, knocking him down. His head cracked on the concrete steps and he was out like a light. The dog flew over his body and ran up the stairs four at a time. As it ran, it heard a distant _bang_ and human screams rose. The dog's sensitive ears understood the voices from the apartment above.

"What is it?"

"_She spat something – my face – ah, my face, help me, please –_"

The dog emerged into a large room, which served as kitchen, living and dining room. A small fire burned in a grate not far away, and a woman in black stood with her back to the cellar. As the dog skidded across the lino floor, the woman jumped back from the doorway. A bolt of red light shot out, flew between the dog's ears and smashed into wall behind it. The woman spun to stare at the dog, pulling out her wand, her long black hair swirling around her like a silk veil. Without hesitation she lowered her wand at the dog and let off a curse.

The dog was lucky. It's thick coat was magic-resistant, and it repelled weak spells if they didn't hit it straight on. This one grazed its ribs and bounced off its shank, and the dog slammed into the woman and its jaws found her arm. She dropped her wand and began to scream for help.

Hestia Jones exploded from the back room, followed by a man who was barely recognisable as Avery, staggering after her. He had closed his eyes when the marble had exploded in his face, so he had not been blinded, but his cheeks were burned and shredded and there was very little left of his nose. Red blood mixed was spittle was dribbling out of the holes in his cheek. He fell face down in front of the fire and began to moan. Hestia Jones looked at the dog, then turned and flew to the other door, just as it was thrown open and a third man emerged, waving a wand and yelling.

Hestia skidded to the floor and crouched down behind a sofa as curses exploded all around her. The dog released its hold on Bellatrix, and was at the man's throat in a second. But he was a big man and he managed to get his arm up to protect his face. He fired curses over the dog's shoulder that singed its fur. While the two struggled on the floor, Hestia leapt clean over them both and ran into the room.

The dog was struck by a spell that gave it a great jolt like an electric shock, and it jumped back, yelping and growling. Bellatrix was on her feet, wand in hand, and the point wavered, pointing at the dog, then switching to the door of the room, and then to the crackling fire in the grate above Avery's fallen form. She whispered something and jets of water sprayed out of the tip of her wand.

The dog howled and leapt at her, knocking her down once more, but the damage was done. The fire was well and truly extinguished, and with the wood sodden wet, it would take time to relight even with magic. Hestia appeared in the doorway of the room that the third man had been guarding, carrying what looked like an armful of blankets and taking in the whole scene at once. A pair of small arms were clinging to her neck.

The third man raised his wand to curse her but she got a disarming spell in first. As the man turned to grab his wand, Hestia pointed Avery's wand at the sofa and it shot across the room and crashed down on top of him. She scrambled past him, still carrying her precious burden, and threw herself at the front door. It was locked. She pointed her wand at the window and it flew open. Bent over the heavy bundle, Hestia began to clamber out.

"No!" Bellatrix shot a hex at the dog, which rolled off her with a whine, and she stumbled to her feet, "no!" she screamed, firing stunning spells at Hestia's legs, which were disappearing out the window. The dog sunk its teeth into her ankle and she tripped, but managed to keep her balance. Hestia vanished.

"You-" rage twisted Bellatrix's heavy features and she swept her wand across the dog's side. A slash opened up on its flank, a wound that looked as if it had been made by a large sword. The dog howled and twisted on its back. The third man was on his feet and leaning out the window, and then dashing to the door. It took him several seconds to remember the spell to unlock the door, then he was and running after Hestia. But he was a large man and it was clear she was too far gone. The death eater that had been knocked out on the stairs surfaced, clutching his head and staring around in bewilderment.

Bellatrix stood over the dog, her wand aimed at its head. She muttered some words and the dog contorted, whining, and was suddenly not a dog any more, but a man.

Sirius lay on his back, clutching his side, looking up at Bellatrix's trembling wand tip. The cut across his ribs was shallow but it hurt like fire and blood was seeping out between his fingers. He waited for Bellatrix's curse.

"Want death, cousin?" the dark-eyed woman hissed, "want me to kill you now? It's all I wish at this moment. But you must be a fool if you think I would put you out of your misery so quickly," she spat at him, "you, you traitorous, mud-screwing beast, will meet your end as slowly as I can arrange it," she was shaking with rage.

Sirius managed a faint smile, "doesn't matter," he replied weakly, as the death eater who had tried to chase Hestia down the street appeared at the doorway, panting, "I don't care now. Harry is safe."

"_Harry?_" Bellatrix's eyes widened, "you think you saved _Harry?_" and she began to laugh, high and huge bellows of laughter.

---------------------------------

Muggles on the street stared at the young woman who dashed past them, carrying what appeared to be a heavy bundle of blankets in her arms. Her face was red and singed as if it had been burnt, and she was filthy, bloody, her clothes torn and tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. Some of the muggles saw that there was a child in her arms, and clicked their tongues disapprovingly.

At last the exhausted young woman slowed and stood, trembling. She raised her head to look up at the old-fashioned red-brick department store looming above her. A sign on its front declared "Purge & Dowse Ltd." in huge green letters.

The young woman heaved the bundle higher on her hip. The boy still clung to her neck, but he was dozing now, and she could hear his quiet little snores. "Almost there," she told him, and pressed her hand to the front window of the department store.

"Emergency," she said, "please. I have a sick child here."

No muggles were watching when she disappeared a moment later, but they would not have believed their eyes anyway. After all, a young woman cannot simply melt through a glass window.

------------------------------

Hestia staggered into the foyer of St Mungo's. The reception area was not crowded, and as Hestia appeared two green-robed healers, responding to her 'emergency' call, came running to meet her.

"What's happening?" one healer, a grizzled old woman with a jutting chin, took in Hestia's scorched face. "Has there been an explosion? Spell, artefact or potion-related?"

Hestia shook her head, "Harry. This boy, he's sick," she folded back the blanket to show the healer the child's face. The boy blinked sleepily, "he was kidnapped. I don't know what they've done to him."

"Oh, you poor dear," the second healer, a rotund woman with wide blue eyes held out her arms and took the boy from Hestia, "don't worry, child, you're alright now," she waved her wand in front of his face and said curtly to the older healer, "he's dehydrated but he doesn't seem ill. I'll find him a bed and get him some fluids."

The older healer nodded and grabbed Hestia's arm as the young witch's legs finally gave way. She was guided to a seat which materialised out thin air. Hestia sunk into it and put her head in her hands.

"Now, come on honey, let me have a look at you," the grizzled healer touched Hestia's forehead, "you've got some fine burns on your faces but I don't think there's going to be any scarring. Are you alright, honey? What's your name?"

"Hestia Jones," the young woman said, and the healer was alarmed to see that she was beginning to cry. Well, it was a natural reaction to any traumatic situation, "I'm Hestia Jones. I had to leave a man behind, and now…I'm afraid for him…he could be dead, or they could be hurting him…"

The healer helped Hestia to her feet and supported her as she limped across the room, "you tell me all about it while we fix you up, honey," she said seriously, "I'm Healer Madison. We're just gonna to take you for some tests, make sure you haven't been hit by any lingering curses. You say someone's being held against their will? Do you want me to call the aurors? Minister Moody has asked us to report anything-"

"He _is_ an auror," sniffed Hestia, "I am too. And what to you mean, Minister Moody?"

"An auror?" the healer stopped and stared at Hestia, "but then, you must know – Alastor Moody has declared himself the new Minister for Magic. He's taken control of all ministry branches."

Hestia frowned, "how can he do that?"

"He's just _done_ it. Now, if you let me take a closer look at your-"

"Moody? He's taken over the ministry?" Hestia shook her head, "why?"

Madison shrugged, "you're a couple of days behind the times, honey. The ministry's all gone. Moody's just taking charge of what's left."

"Why Moody? Why not Scrimgeour, or someone other politician? Moody already has enough responsibilities running the aurors."

"Scrimgeour was too late. Moody snatched it up first. But it's driven a rift between Moody and Dumbledore…" she lowered her voice, "Rumour is, Moody is demanding Dumbledore's cooperation for a full-frontal attack on Voldemort, and Dumbledore is refusing to put his weight behind it…but, that's just what I heard…"

Hestia's eyes widened, "Dumbledore! I have to contact Dumbledore," she looked around and her eyes alighted on the portrait of Dilys Derwent, Healer and ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts, on display not far away and rushed off towards it. Healer Madison watched in bemusement as she began an avid conversation with the portrait. After a few minutes Derwent seemed to reply coolly and vanished out of her frame. The healer shook her head sadly, muttering to herself "well, shock makes you do some strange things."

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Healer Wenceslas carried the young boy to a quiet ward and flicked her wand to summon a few potions and a change of clothes.

"There we are, dear," she said as she pulled the hospital pyjamas over his head, "what's your name, sweetie-pie?"

"N-neville," the boy sniffed, rubbing his face.

"Well, Neville, looks like you've had a rough time. But we'll get you cleaned up and back to your mama and papa, alright?"

Neville sniffed again, "really? I can see Mum and Dad again?"

"Of course, chicky. Now, you take a few sips of this and then we'll get some fluids into you," she poured out a few spoons of pink syrup from a dark glass bottle and held the medicine glass out.

Neville pushed the glass away with a cry, "no, no, I won't have any more! I hate it!"

Healer Wenceslas managed to steady the glass before the medicine slopped out the top, "it's alright, Neville, it's just to help buck you up. It won't hurt you."

Neville curled up and began to cry, "I want Mum and Dad!" he sobbed, "I want them now! Don't make me have any more potions!"

Healer Wenceslas felt a crease of concern form on her forehead. She put the medicine glass down and sat on the bed next to Neville, "I don't understand, honey. Where did your Mum and Dad go? The nice woman who brought you in here said that you'd been kidnapped."

"They…they didn't go anywhere," Neville choked, "they didn't help me when the bad men took me away. They got hurt so they didn't help me. I want mummy…"

Healer Wenceslas put one large arm around the frail body, wondering whether a sleeping spell wasn't in order for the distressed child, "we're going to find your family Neville, don't you worry," she patted his head, "you just have to trust us. Hmm?"

As her hand disturbed Neville's fringe Healer Wenceslas saw something odd hidden beneath the hair. Curious, she gently lifted up the soft baby hair and to her surprise saw that there was a dark slash down his forehead. It was not a recent wound, since it seemed to have formed a neat scar, but the Healer clicked her tongue in worry. What an odd shape – a perfect lightening bolt. Such a scar surely wasn't the result of a childhood accident. To the trained healer's eye, it looked more like a magical wound.

Before she could dwell on the peculiar scar, Healer Madison bustled into the room to bring a potion to another patient. Her eyes falling on Neville, she barked, "how is he?"

"Frightened," Wenceslas replied, "his name is Neville. I haven't got much else."

Unscrewing the cap of an enormous medicine jug, Madison asked, "Neville what?"

Wenceslas bent to look at Neville, "honey, what's your last name?"

Neville sniffed, "Longbottom. I'm Neville Longbottom."

There was a loud smash as the huge medicine jug slipped out of Madison's hands and shattered on the floor of the ward. She stared at the boy, "_Longbottom,_ you say?"

Neville nodded mutely.

Madison stepped over the spilled potion, grabbed Wenceslas by the arm and marched her out of earshot. Wenceslas protested, "what is it? What's wrong?"

"Longbottom. Neville Longbottom – he's dead. A month ago," Madison babbled as quietly as she could, "it was in all the papers, didn't you see? I went to school with his grandmother. Dead. Not the grandmother. The parents, and him."

Wenceslas shook her head, "you must have got confused somewhere."

"I went to the _funeral!_" Madison hissed, "I saw their bodies. The boy – they found what was left of him in the house incinerator. Or they thought they did – it was never – really – checked. That the body in the incinerator was their son's. Oh, Lord, Mary, that boy's been missing for a month. His parents were killed by you-know-who – don't you see…what must have happened?"

Wenceslas just stared, "this can't be possible."

"It is possible. And that woman that brought him in – she's an auror. She must have been captured when the Ministry fell."

Wenceslas took a sharp intake of breath, "we should report this to Minister Moody."

Madison tightened her grip on the younger healer's arm, "no. No – we keep this in the hospital. In think the woman already contacted Dumbledore somehow. The last thing we want is for the two of them to turn up and start a fight in the middle of our recovery ward."

Wenceslas shook her head, "I have a feeling that you're going to get a fight one way or another, Madison."

----------------------------

TBC


	10. Breakfast and the Burrow

A/N: I love writing Lupin.

Well, my big surprise didn't come as a big surprise to most of you, but I hope you liked it all the same. Guess what I just did? I Just wrote half a page of this chapter and then accidentally closed the window without saving and lost it all. Bangs head on keyboard stupid, stupid, stupid…

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

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While Sirius and Hestia sat up by night-time planning their rescue and escape from the cellar in London, a hundred miles away, the occupants of the cottage in the rain slept peacefully, warmed by the embers of the dying fire and soothed by the steady drumming of drops on the tiled roof. Charlie and Nymphadora top-and-tailed together on the sunken couch under a pile of blankets. Nymphadora drifted off feeling warm and safe, if not comfortable, since Charlie seemed to have sharpened his knees with the specific purpose of digging them into her back. She was consoled by the thought that her feet, which she knew for a fact _did_ not smell of roses, were somewhere in the region of his face.

Harry slept curled on Lupin's single bed in the corner, cuddled into his friend's chest, a look of total contentment on his face. Lupin snored quietly, one arm thrown protectively over the small boy. The night passed without incident. When Nymphadora opened her eyes, the cottage was filled with warm sunlight and she could hear the universally recognisable sound of breakfast being prepared. Charlie was lying on his back with one leg draped over Nymphadora's waist, snorting as he slept. Nymphadora pushed him back to his side of the couch and rolled over. Harry was sitting on the edge of Lupin's bed, rubbing his eyes. His honorary uncle was not in sight.

She raised her head sleepily to look over the edge of the couch and ducked down at once. Lupin was standing at the end of his bed, pulling off his nightgown and reaching for a fresh shirt. He already had his trousers on, but for an instant there he had been completely naked from the waist up…She quickly closed her eyes, her heart thumping, trying to repress an involuntary smile.

Once she was sure he had put his shirt on and gone over to the stove to check on the breakfast she sat up and yawned dramatically, pretending to have just awoken. Harry trundled over and greeted her with a hug, "'morning, Tonks," he said, and headed over to the table where Lupin was tending to bacon and eggs. Charlie raised his head, blinking.

"Hey, man, don't I get a hug?" he asked, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. Harry laughed and blew him a kiss instead. In the short time she had known him, Nymphadora has not realised the young boy could be so happy.

She had slept in her T-shirt and jeans, and she pulled on her jacket before joining Harry at the tiny table. There were only two proper chairs in the house, so Lupin had improvised with a large crate and the rocking chair. It was the latter which Nymphadora flumped down into, wiping sleep out of her eyes. Charlie got up and headed straight for the kitchen bench to give Lupin a hand.

"Don't be so lazy, Tonks," said Charlie, slapping her on the back on his way past, "don't you know you always help the host with breakfast?"

Nymphadora felt her cheeks blush bright red, "I didn't mean…" she babbled, finishing lamely with, "Mum never lets me help with breakfast because I'm always breaking things."

Lupin laughed and Tonks felt herself go a deeper shade of red, "it's alright," the young man replied, "I'm not used to having guests. I don't know the hospitality rules either. Your name is Tonks?"

"My real name's Nymphadora," she said, trying to sink down into the floor, "but…I mean…you can just call me Tonks, if you want. No one calls me Nymphadora."

"I think Nymphadora is a lovely name," Lupin told her.

"Oh, well, I mean, you can call me…whatever…you like," Tonks was now so red she was glowing like a muggle Christmas tree. Charlie sniggered loudly while he sliced up a loaf of bread.

"Well, Tonks it is then," Lupin wiped his fingers on a tea towel and offered Nymphadora his hand, "Wotcher, Tonks, it's nice to meet you."

"Thank you. I mean. Nice to meet you too," blurted Nymphadora, shaking his hand, "Remus," she finished. When Lupin turned around to flip the eggs, Harry saw her mouthing 'wotcher' under her breath, as if trying to commit the word to memory.

"And, let me guess," said Lupin, nudging Charlie with his elbow, "you're a Weasley?"

"You bet I am!" said Charlie, grinning, "Charlie Weasley, at your service."

"Yes, I remember," Lupin nodded, "I met you when you were just learning to walk. I think you took a bite out of my shoe."

"Say what?" Charlie blushed almost as red as Tonks and looked at Lupin's bare feet apologetically while Lupin laughed richly, "you're a friend of my parents?"

"I used to work with your father," Lupin said in his placid voice, "when I got a job at the ministry a few years back. I have a…condition…that makes it very difficult for me to work, and when the nature of my ailment was revealed your father was one of the only men who defended me. It did no good: I lost my job for withholding the information, and your father had his pay cut for insurrection, but I will be forever grateful to him all the same."

"Well, er, that's Dad for you," Charlie shrugged, "never thinks of what's best for himself."

"A very noble man," Lupin answered, "how many brothers do you have now?"

"Five," Charlie said proudly, "Bill, Percy, the twins, and little Ronnie, who's Harry's age, I think. _And_ I've got a sister now as well, Ginny," his face suddenly became morose, "but Bill…he was on the train. I don't know what's happened to him."

Lupin's face also became grim as he dished out the bacon and eggs onto the chipped plates he had laid at the table, "then you should contact your parents at once. They must be worried sick about you. The floo powder is over on the mantelpiece," he nodded at the fire place, picked his wand up off the windowsill and pointed it at the hearth, which blazed into life. Lupin looked at Nymphadora, "you do the same. I could not stand it if your mother and father believed you were dead."

Tonks squeaked, "of course," and wolfed down the bacon hungrily. Harry noticed that every time Lupin spoke to her, her golden hair briefly turned to grey-flecked brown, the exact shade of Lupin's. If the young man also noticed this, he said nothing.

Harry turned around in his seat to watch Charlie kneel in front of the fire, which now blazed gloriously green, and stick his head into it, crying "the burrow!" After a few moments, his voice could be heard echoing back to them, though they could not hear who he was talking to.

"Mum! Yes, it's me and…urgh, ah, stop it! Look, you can give me a kiss when I get home, not yet…yeah, I'm fine. I'm not hurt or anything, and I'm safe. Has Bill…?"

There was a long pause, then, "oh," said Charlie quietly, "but, I mean, maybe he just hasn't been able to get a message through? No news it good news, right? Oh, Hello Ronnie – ow, Mum, he's pulling my hair."

Another pause, "Hey, Dad! I'm in a cottage with a guy named Lupin, says he used to work with you. I've got a couple of other kids with me. Yeah? Yeah, okay." Charlie withdrew his head from the fire and his face appeared once more, smeared with a bit of soot, "Dad says he wants to thank you."

"Tell him he is perfectly welcome," said Lupin. Charlie relayed the message, and then emerged again, "Dad asks if you want to come over for lunch. Mum says she'll make meatballs."

Lupin smiled, "I cannot resist Molly's meatballs. Tell him it would be a pleasure, and ask him if I could bring my, er, nephew along as well."

Charlie stuck his head back into the fire and, after what sounded like more displays of affection from his mother, got to his feet, coughing, "he says great, come over at once, he wants to thank you in person. Your turn," he shot at Nymphadora.

She got up from the table, went over to the fire and knelt down a little reluctantly. She looked back at Lupin, "I don't want to go home yet. I don't want to abandon Harry," she added hurriedly. "Couldn't I stay here with him?"

Lupin deliberated this for a moment, "it isn't up to me," he said finally. "You must ask your parents first. It would not do to put anyone in undue danger."

Calling her address as she plunged her head into the flames, Nymphadora greeted her father, and a moment later, her mother, with just as much joy and reassurance of her safety as Charlie had. Then they heard her voice asking to remain with Harry for a little while longer.

"No, it's alright, I'm staying with a guy named Lupin," she relayed to her parents, "he's Harry's…er…Uncle, and he's really nice…"

There was a long pause, and then Nymphadora said loudly, "_oh!_ How can you…" she pulled her head out of the fire. "She wants me to come home at once. I think she knows who you are," she added, looking at Lupin, who sighed.

"Then you must go home," he said. "Mothers always know best."

"Well, that's just dumb," said Charlie loudly. "Tell her you're not staying at Lupin's house. You're coming over to the Weasley's house. Tell her that!"

Tears pricking at her eyes, Nymphadora put her head back into the fire and firmly informed her mother of this. They heard Nymphadora's half of a heated argument, and then Nymphadora emerged grinning, "she says I can stay with you, Charlie!" she whooped, and rushed over to throw her arms around him. "Thank goodness!"

"Hey, hey, that wasn't a marriage proposal," Charlie looked at Lupin imploringly, "little help here?"

"Sorry," Nymphadora pried herself away, still smiling, "I'm just so glad. Why does Mum think it's dangerous for me to stay with you?" she asked Lupin. "Are you a necromancer or something?"

"Not at all," Lupin said, trying to smile but failing, "I promise you I won't put you in any danger. It's just that my condition is contagious at certain times, and people do tend to have certain prejudices towards me because of it."

Tonks stomped her foot, "well _I_ don't!" she said fiercely, "and I never will! You've been nothing but hospitable to us, and after all, _Harry_ seems to like you."

"That's true," said Harry, with an arrogant smile.

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Nymphadora, who had grown up the only child of a messy muggle father and a witch mother who was tidy to the point of obsessive, had never been in a house quite like the burrow. After following Charlie into Lupin's grate, she emerged, coughing, from the fireplace at the other end and found herself ambushed by what looked, at first sight, like a pack of red-haired savages.

A rotund woman in an apron, the only one who didn't have flaming locks, had enveloped her second-eldest son in a teary hug, while a red-haired boy about four years old hung off his brother's arm, crying, "Charlie! Charlie!" in an overjoyed voice. Two identical freckled boys leapt on Nymphadora as she stepped onto the rug, each grabbing one of her hands and pulling her further into the room at the same time as bombarding her with questions about her identity. A fourth brother, who pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a sniff, watched her with a suspicious frown from a bulbous sofa not far away. And a small girl whose red hair was pulled into four frizzy plaits, and who could not quite walk in a straight line, tugged at Nymphadora's jacket, asking earnestly, "are you Charlie's girlfriend? Are you?"

"Er," said Nymphadora, but she was saved from answering by a red-haired man who grabbed her hand from one of the twins and shook it warmly, crying, "and you must be Nymphadora Tonks! Welcome to the burrow. I'm Arthur Weasley," he began to point at his family, "my wife Molly, Percy in the corner there, Fred, George – or is it George and Fred? – and Ginny down here. Ronald is the one with Charlie, who you already know – he tells us your father is a muggle? You must tell me all about it-"

At that moment Lupin stepped gracefully out of the fireplace, carrying Harry in his arms.

"Remus!" Arthur welcomed his old colleague, "you're looking – well, healthy!"

"Go on, Arthur, you can say it," said Lupin, setting Harry on his feet and shaking the red-haired man's hand, "I'm looking poor. I'm not ashamed."

"I'm not avoiding the subject," Arthur replied, "but I don't want to draw attention to our own financial shortcomings, you understand," he winked.

"Remus, it's wonderful to see you again," cried Molly, embracing the young man, "I do wish we hadn't lost touch."

"An unfortunate side effect of war," Lupin answered, "now, you must introduce me to all the new additions – a girl? Is that a Weasley _girl?_"

"The first for a number of generations," Molly smiled proudly, "come, come and have a seat, I've made lemonade and everything. I cannot thank you enough for taking Charlie in. Have you heard anything from Hogwarts? We hoped – with your contacts to Dumbledore – there's been no word from the school yet, you see…" she brushed away tears as she lead Lupin away into the kitchen.

The adults gone, Charlie sat down on the sofa with Nymphadora and began trying to keep the peace with his younger siblings. This was evidently not a job he was practised at, but one usually assigned to Bill, because not one of them listened to a word he said. The twins had pounced on Harry and sat him down to show him their toy broomsticks (one of which had been repaired with copious amounts of spello-tape) while Ronald demanded loudly that he be allowed to join in and Ginny watched, bubbling with laughter.

Percy, who looked about eight years old, was sitting on an armchair not far away, peering over the top of a thick volume. He caught Nymphadora's eye and quickly ducked down behind the book.

"Hello, Perce!" Charlie said loudly, "glad to see me?"

Percy's voice, rather muffled, came from behind the book, "of course."

"When I left, he was really angry I wouldn't teach him any spells. You'd think my life being threatened would have made him snap out of it, but Percy just _loves_ to hold a grudge," Charlie whispered to Nymphadora, then he nudged her in the ribs and winked. "Looks like he's a bit smitten with you, huh?"

Behind the book, Percy's forehead flushed suddenly pick and Nymphadora glared at Charlie. "Don't tease him about things like that!"

"Why not? …oh, that's right! Remus!" Charlie threw back his head and laughed. Nymphadora pouted and looked away. Ginny crawled over and pulled herself upright on the older girl's jeans. The little girl looked at Nymphadora with wide eyes.

"You witch?" she asked.

"Not yet," said Nymphadora sadly, leaning down to look the tiny girl in the eye, "but it would come in mighty handy right now, wouldn't it?" she said, while Charlie continued to snigger behind his hand.

--------------------------------

TBC

A/N: _What the heck is up with Moody?_ Moody is not Barty Crouch Jr., nor is he being controlled by imperious curse or any other mind control. That really is Moody leading the aurors and taking over the government. In fact, the coup doesn't even have that much to do with the story, although it probably will if there is a part 2 or 3. I simply felt that Moody always seemed like a military leader, even though he is on the 'good' side. I guess the coup is just an emphasis about there not being a 'good' side and a 'bad' side. Also, I wanted to split the 'good' guys into factions.


	11. Of Arguments and Night Walks

A/N: Glory be, I'm glad my exams are over. Sleep, here I come!

Last chapter didn't seem to go anywhere, you might have noticed. This is because Chapter 10 and 11 were originally one chapter, but I've split them because it was such a long one. I found I loved writing smitten!Tonks so much. Very little smitten!Tonks in this one, unfortunately, but enough Lupin to satisfy my appetite.

Read on!

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

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Molly served Remus lemonade with a hand that was shaking so much the cordial spilled onto the table. Remus had to help her to pour out glasses for Arthur and herself as well.

"I'm sorry," she said, waving her hand across her face and taking a shuddering breath, "I just…I don't know what to think. I keep telling myself not to lose hope, that an owl will arrive from Hogwarts any moment telling us he's safe…but what if he isn't? What if my little baby Bill is…" she couldn't bring herself to say 'dead', "…and all my hopes are for nothing?"

Remus touched her arm reassuringly. "Then don't think about it yet. What have you heard so far? I only know what Charlie and Nymphadora told me."

Arthur came back into the room with the Daily Prophet and dropped it onto the table as if it were something that burned him, "speculation. Rumours. Nonsense," he said bitterly, "Dumbledore released a statement saying Hogwarts has taken every child in, but the way they wrote it, it doesn't sound like Dumbledore. I think the Prophet was just making the statement up."

"Dumbledore would certainly have taken all the children in," Remus replied, "and I fear that perhaps he has locked the school down to protect it from further attacks. What he may or may not realise is that the _reason_ for the attack on the train is not _in_ Hogwarts, or among the students there. Dumbledore will have found the attack completely unexpected – many death eaters' children still attend Hogwarts, as well as the children of you-know-who's potential supporters. By attacking the train, you-know-who may actually have driven away a number of allies from his cause. And you-know-who's greatest strength is his followers. What he wanted must have meant more to him than all that."

Arthur frowned, "that 'nephew' of yours…I wasn't aware you had any siblings, Remus, let alone siblings that would produce a child of such striking resemblance to your friend James Potter. Why are you pretending to be his uncle?"

Remus sighed, "His name is Harry, and he is the Potters' son. And, Molly, Arthur, please forgive him for this – he was what the death eaters' were looking for when they attacked the train. I do not totally understand it myself, but I know that the reason the Potters went into hiding four years ago was because of Harry's birth and the threat he posed to you-know-who," he raised his hand as both Weasleys opened their mouths, "don't ask me more than that, I don't know the whole of the story, and I cannot tell you much more. James has always trusted me but he has not shared everything with me, and I swore to him I would never reveal what I know to anyone. All I can tell you is that, four nights ago you-know-who attacked the Potters' house, with what intent, I can suspect but not be sure of. He killed Lily and James, and injured Harry before he fled the scene. My friend Sirius Black arrived, and according to Harry, chased you-know-who away – although I find this unlikely, myself – and then took off with Harry to London, before disappearing.

"Harry has passed from hand to hand since then until he arrived with me. He was taken in my some old muggles, who then dumped him in the house of Andromeda, Sirius' cousin, who then got rid of him as quickly as possible by having her daughter Tonks escort him to Hogwarts, who was subsequently attacked during the journey, and rescued by your son, and the three of them managed to reach my cottage late last night. And now I must pass him on again."

Arthur took a breath, "you want us to take care of him. But what you are saying is that everyone who has looked after this boy in the past week has vanished, been killed or attacked, or gotten rid of him before they can be threatened."

"Yes," said Remus, leaning forward with desperation in his eyes, "and I swear, I will be back tomorrow to take him back again, but Harry has arrived at a most inconvenient time for me," he pointed at a calender hanging on the pantry door, "as you know, I tend to get a bit, er, _moody_ around this time of month, and there is no way I could look after Harry tonight. I have lost three friends in the last four days – one dead, one vanished, one a traitor – and I have no one left I can trust. Please, take Harry for one night, that's all I ask, and tomorrow I will contact Dumbledore and fly him to Hogwarts myself, and remain with him there."

There was a silence for several moments, then Molly, her voice choked with tears, said, "of _course_ we will, Remus, how can you suggest anything else? Leave an innocent child at the hands of death eaters? We will protect him with our life!"

Remus' face broke into an enormous smile, and he looked at Arthur to make sure he had his friend's agreement as well. Arthur nodded, "I wouldn't refuse you if you-know-who was knocking on the door this very moment," he said.

At that moment, there came a loud knocking at the door, and all three jumped in their seats. Molly's eyes widened, but Arthur waved his hand, "we've got wards around the house. Dark wizards can't approach without triggering them," he said hastily, and got up to answer the door. They heard him greeting someone, the sound of a witch's voice replying loudly and then Arthur returned, tailed by Andromeda Tonks, looking regal in a black satin cloak and an enormous blue witch's hat, which she swept off her head as she entered.

"Good morning," she said, holding out a hand for Molly to shake, and she looked at Lupin, "Remus," she said coldly, her eyes flicking to the calender on the pantry door.

"Morning, Andromeda," said Lupin, smiling pleasantly, "you are looking lovely, today. Is Ted well?"

"As well as can be," said Andromeda with a sniff.

"I assume you've come to collect your daughter?" Lupin said, leaning back in his seat.

Before Andromeda could reply, a deafening squawk of, "_MUM!_" broke from the doorway on the other side of the room. Nymphadora rushed across the kitchen, arms outstretched.

"Dora!" cried Andromeda, enveloping her daughter in the folds of her cloak and lifting her off her feet, "oh, my darling, my beloved, my dearest one! Oh, I'm so sorry! I've been such a fool!"

"Yes, you have," said Lupin loudly, and there was an angry note in his voice. Everyone turned to stare at him, "and it may have cost a number of innocent children their lives. It almost lost you your daughter, not to mention my charge. It could have lost Molly and Arthur two sons!" the Weasleys looked at one another, frowning at this sudden outburst.

Andromeda lowered Nymphadora to the ground. The girl was looking from her mother to Lupin in surprise.

Andromeda said sharply, "and what other option did I have, Remus? I couldn't risk floo powder. I couldn't _fly_ him to Hogwarts."

"You could have apparated to Hogsmeade and walked the rest of the way," said Lupin, getting to his feet, "you could have done any number of things that were not throw him onto a train and say 'well, he's Dumbledore's problem now'. But you were too afraid they would trace him back to _your_ family, if you took him to Dumbledore yourself!"

"I have a daughter to protect!" Andromeda said, and fury was building around her like a storm cloud. Charlie, the twins, Ronald and Harry appeared in the doorway behind her.

"You have a daughter to _lose!_" snarled Lupin, "and you _will_ lose her, if you-know-who ever gets a hold of Harry! I promise you, if that day ever comes, we'll _all_ lose!"

Andromeda opened her mouth to bellow some retort, but a tiny voice yelled out, "STOP IT!"

Harry was standing in the middle of the kitchen, "stop arguing! I hate it!" he said, "it's arguing that makes the problems!"

Lupin looked like he wanted to launch another verbal attack at Andromeda, then he bowed his head, "I'm sorry, Harry," he said.

Andromeda looked at Harry, and for a moment it seemed she was also going to apologise, then she took Nymphadora's hand, nodded her head at Arthur and Molly, and said, "I must be off now. Thank you for taking care of my daughter," and she swept out.

Nymphadora waved goodbye to Harry and Charlie as she disappeared, "bye!" she called to them, "bye, Lupin! I'll see you later!" she added, and then her mother lead her out the door and she was gone.

Lupin sank back into his chair, "I'm sorry," he said to the room in general, "I got carried away."

"You _should_ be sorry," said Harry, climbing onto the seat beside him, "you shouldn't fight, Moony, it's bad for you. Leave the fight to Sirius. He does it better."

Lupin laughed, "hit the nail on the head there, Harry. Oh, I need him right now, that's for sure."

"Then come help me find him," Harry shook Lupin's arm demandingly, "he's lost but we can find him, even if we have to get Dumbledore to help. I promise I won't be scared of Dumbledore just so long as we find Sirius."

Lupin shook his head, "tomorrow, Harry, I promise. Tomorrow I'll get Dumbledore and we'll find Sirius," he sound weary and not at all convincing, "but not today, and not this night."

He stood up, "I must go home and prepare myself for moonrise," he said to Arthur and Molly, who were still standing a little dumbstruck beside the kitchen sink.

"But…but you haven't even had lunch yet!" Molly cried.

Lupin paused for a moment, "alright," he said, "I'll stay for lunch. Then I really must go."

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Night-time in the burrow was not quiet, even when everyone was asleep. And not everyone was asleep. Harry lay awake in the darkness, listening to the breathing of the three other boys in the room. He was sleeping in Ronald's bed, while Ronald had taken Fred's and Fred was doubling with George. Bill's bed, in the room next door, remained empty. Harry listened to the creaks and groans of the tall house, the clanking of the pipes and the soft mumbling of Ron in his sleep.

He liked the Weasleys. He liked having someone his own age to play with, not to mention the twins and Ginny, who were more fun than any children Harry had been friends with before. He'd never had a chance to play with other wizarding children. And he liked Molly Weasley, even though she wasn't all that much like his own mother. But she was very kind, and Arthur too. And having Charlie as a big brother was almost like having Sirius when Sirius had drunk a bit too much firewhisky, which didn't happen that often but was always a lot of fun when it did. He missed Tonks already, but he was sure he would see her soon enough, even if she went off to Hogwarts with Charlie.

But it was Sirius that weighed on his mind. In the pit of his stomach, the four-year-old boy knew, without a grain of uncertainty, that his Godfather was in danger and suffering for it. This thought niggled and pressed at him, making him unable to sleep. He had been sure that as soon as he found Moony, Sirius would not be far behind. Moony would make everything better.

But Moony had gone home with nothing more than a promise about tomorrow. And Sirius was still lost and suffering. Clearly, Harry had to go to the highest authority, and find Dumbledore all by himself: only then, it seemed, would he be finally reunited with his Godfather. To Harry, who heard Dumbledore's name whispered in reverent voices and who remembered his one glimpse of the man as a towering statue of silver beard and twinkling blue eye, Dumbledore seemed rather like an Emperor, or a God. How on earth could he, Harry, small and sleepy and with no magic to speak of, make his way to Hogwarts, Dumbledore's palace, and convince this towering Emperor to help him bring Sirius home?

He would have to find Moony, and convince Moony that there was no time to waste. Only Moony knew how to get to Dumbledore.

This decision resolved in his mind, Harry pushed Ronald's covers off himself as quietly as he could and slipped over to the door, which was open a crack, and out into the hall of the Burrow. The only way he could get to Moony's house was through the fireplace: that seemed obvious enough. But he couldn't light a fire without magic.

Harry pushed open the door to the room where Charlie and Percy were sleeping soundly. The moonlight streamed through the window, so bright the whole room was illuminated. Charlie's wand sat on the cabinet beside his bed, between Percy's glasses and a box of cough drops. Harry padded over and picked up the wand. He didn't know any spells, but he knew that when he held his father's wand, he could achieve many fascinating results that often made his mother shriek and snatch it off him, scolding, "Harry, don't _touch_ that! You'll set the house on fire!"

Well, thought Harry, as he snuck back into the hall, if he could set the house on fire he could certainly set fire to a simply hearth. He headed down the twisting staircase to the living room, where the enormous fireplace stood, wood piled high for the next day's use. When he got there he knelt and poked the wand into the centre of the twigs and brambles, trying to think of flames and burning things.

For a while, he could not get anything to happen. He shook the wand, frustrated, and at last a few sparks shot out of the end. Pleased, Harry tapped the twigs with his wand, and they began to glow and crackle with flame. In moments, he had a decent child-sized fire burning in the fireplace.

Harry stood up and realised the familiar box of floo powder was on top of the mantelpiece, high above his reach. He stretched out his hands, pointed the wand at the box, and mentally commanded it to come to him. The box began to shake, and wriggle, and finally fell off the mantelpiece and crashed onto the carpet. Floo powder spilled everywhere. Harry felt a little guilty at making a mess for Molly to clean up, but pushing the guilt aside, he picked up a handful of powder and threw it onto his dwindling fire.

At once, huge roaring flames exploded in the fireplace, bursting outwards and licking around Harry's ears. They didn't burn him, and he pushed his hand into them experimentally. It just felt like a cool breeze playing up and down his arm.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Harry stepped into the fire, saying aloud,

"Remus Lupin's Cottage."

---------------------------------

Charlie twitched in his sleep and rolled over. Something had woken him, though he could not hear anything unusual. How curious. He opened his eyes. Through the window, the full moon illuminated the bedroom and the landscape outside in lines of silver. Charlie closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but a distant whooshing sound caught his attention. He sat up, straining his ears.

It must have been one of the twins going to the toilet, he decided, and tried to settle back down. He glanced over at his brother Percy, snoring softly, and beyond Percy, Bill's empty bed, neatly made and unoccupied. He felt a little worry gnaw his stomach. But no use thinking about it now.

A glint of moonlight struck Percy's glasses and Charlie looked at them, wondering why he was so _sure_ something was wrong. There were Percy's spectacles, folded neatly. There was the book on Goblin History that Percy was reading. There was the box of cough drops still waiting to be taken back to the medicine cabinet, and the little wicker basket where Bill kept his collection of interesting-shaped rocks. And there was…

There was…

Where was Charlie's wand?

Charlie sat bolt upright. It was gone. His wand was gone. He knew he had put it on the cabinet before he had gone to bed, he remembered placing it there, within Percy's jealous sight. He swung his feet out over the floor and got out of bed, dropping to his hands and knees to see if it had rolled off the cabinet and under the bed. But the carpet was bare. And how could it have rolled off, with Percy's glasses on one side and the box on the other?

Charlie, imagining dark wizards creeping through the house and wandering ghosts descending on the bedrooms, ran out into the hall. He was going to go and wake his parents, but then he saw a light from downstairs. Fear thumping in his chest, he tip-toed slowly down the stairs, peering around the corner with his legs tensed to flee.

The living room was empty, but a blazing green fire burned in the grate. Charlie could see the box of floo powder spilled across the carpet, and there, lying beside it, a wand that had been cast aside. Charlie ran down and snatched it up, and relief flooded through him as soon as he touched it. Definitely his wand.

But then…who had taken it, and lit the fire?

_Oh no,_ thought Charlie. He raced back upstairs and pushed open the door to his younger brothers' bedroom. The twins, arms thrown haphazardly in every direction, snored on their backs on the far bed. Ronald was curled in a nest of blankets in the centre bed.

The near bed was empty. Charlie backed away from the door, scrambled down the corridor and threw open the door to his parent's bedroom.

"Dad!" he yelled, "Mum, Dad! Wake up!" his little sister, still sleeping in a cot in the corner, rolled over and began to cry, "wake up!" Charlie yelled, as his parents raised their heads, "wake up! Harry's gone!"

--------------------------------

He stumbled out of the fireplace, coughing from the soot. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust, but Harry quickly felt a thrill of success. He was in Moony's cosy, familiar cottage. He headed straight for Moony's bed, already trying to formulate an argument to make his friend take him to Dumbledore.

But he stopped a few feet from the bed. It was empty. Where was Moony? Harry felt frustration rise in him. The fireplace, without any fire to keep it burning, dulled and went out, so that the room was plunged briefly into darkness. But the light from the full moon filled it quickly and Harry began to search for any sign of where his friend had gone. The bed was neatly made. All Lupin's clothes were stacked on the shelf at the end of the bed. His travelling trunk was standing upright, and empty, at the side.

Harry turned his head and saw, for the first time, that the wardrobe which usually stood beside the fireplace had been pulled away from the wall. Hidden behind it was a door Harry had never seen before. Curiously, Harry walked towards the door and touched the handle.

There was a bang, and a growl, and the sound of scratching. Harry jumped back. There was some kind of animal in there! And clearly, since Moony was not in the main room, _he_ must also be behind the door.

Or perhaps, reasoned Harry, Moony and the animal were one and the same. After all, both Sirius and his father had often transformed into animals, a tall stag and a hulking black dog, before his very eyes. And Peter, too, though not as often. Turning into an animal was a skill all grown men seemed to possess. Well, the Sirius dog and the James stag had never harmed Harry.

He reached out, turned the handle of the door, and opened it a crack.

--------------------------------

TBC


	12. Hogwarts Teeming

A/N: I like writing Dumbledore. He's so friendly. (Sniff)

Important Author's Notes:

As a few of people pointed out to me, Harry would probably have grown up knowing that Lupin was a werewolf. He wouldn't be such a moron. I'm sorry that I overlooked that, I should have thought about it more. But Harry visiting Lupin in the full moon is a crucial part of the story and I guess I was a bit blind.

I could justify Harry's stupidity in a couple of ways: first, it's quite possible he didn't _know_ it was a full moon, that it just didn't _occur_ to him to check. Second, James might have told him "Uncle Lupin has Lycanthropy" but for a four year old boy, how much would it mean? Four year old children are only just learning the difference between males and females (I'm not making that up: young children judge whether a person is male or female by their clothes and hairstyle) so being a werewolf would mean very little, especially as Lily and James might well have told Harry "There's nothing wrong with being a werewolf, it's OK to be a werewolf." Harry might have been told that Lupin was very dangerous on the full moon, but for a child, it's not easy to believe that someone who loves you could become something so completely different.

Anyway, I don't really have any excuse for overlooking that. I really am sorry. Please continue.

I hurt from writing this chapter. I ache. I weep. I burn. Cheers.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

----------------------------------

_While Harry and Lupin were enjoying a Weasley lunch, with ten people crowded around the table at the burrow, in a distant castle on a hillside, there was less to celebrate._

The sun beamed down on the castle, but stone, as if itself in mourning, remained cold and grim as ever. As she walked, Minerva McGonagall checked off the jobs she had finished.

_Fourth outer wards checked _– done.

_Dormitory wards strengthened_ – done.

_House elves briefed for third time_ – done.

_Paintings charmed to alarms, doors registered with new passwords, plumbing double-filtered with shields_ (to prevent what? Dark wizard sewage?) – done, done and done.

She'd finished all the tasks the headmaster had set for her. She had the hardest task now. Professor McGonagall paused in the corridor outside the hospital wing and took a quick moment to catch her breath and then opened the doors and stepped through into the rooms beyond.

The soft murmur of trained healers met her ears, and the quiet crying of a child from behind a curtain. There were twice as many beds as normal, extra ones having been conjured from all over the castle, and each one was filled. The stifled feeling of the room was increased by the many more students keeping vigil by their friends' or siblings' bedsides, determined not to leave their loved ones even when the teachers had tried to make them vacate by force.

A healer in green scurried past, carry a tall bottle on a tray and muttering to herself. Madame Pomfrey was bending of a small boy whose arm was swathed in bandages so thickly it looked like giant white club. McGonagall watched as Pomfrey ran her wand up and down the bandages, telling the boy quietly, "I'm afraid the rash is still there, Madoc, and we need to leave the dressings on so that is doesn't spread any further…"

It was a gladdening change from yesterday's scene. McGonagall felt a small lump clutch at her throat as she thought of this room yesterday evening, with Madame Pomphrey and four Hogwarts teachers trying to deliver urgent medical attention to over fifty injured children, most hysterical, many unconscious, some dying…

But Dumbledore had had the sense to summon healers within moments of the attack on the train reaching his ears, and they had arrived from St Mungo's within the hour, a dozen green-robed healers, skilled in saving lives and equipped for the emergency. Meanwhile the headmaster himself, along with the rest of the teachers, had already arrived at the stranded Hogwarts express, arms loaded with portkeys. They were joined at the scene by twelve aurors, courtesy of Alastor Moody. The aurors had driven off the remaining death eaters as the Hogwarts staff arrived. McGonagall had never been so thankful to Moody before, though she thought, a little angrily, that it had not been compassion that had moved him but ulterior motive. Dumbledore owed the impromptu Minister of Magic a favour now.

McGonagall had never been prouder of her seventh-years. They had apparated a great number of the children away from the train before the death eaters came on board, no doubt lowering the damage done.

But the damage was still unbearable. Eight students on the train had been found dead, and two more had breathed their last even as the aurors tried to revive them. Another, a fifth-year boy, had died as he was portkeyed into the hospital wing, carried in Dumbedore's arms. Altogether some seventy students had sustained injuries, most from cruel and damaging curses but some gained in the panic as people tried to flee. Many were superficial, others less so. There were about thirty still recovering in the hospital wing.

Now they had literally hundreds of owls to answer from parents desperate to hear that their children were well, and a school locked down because Dumbledore did not yet know _why_ the train had been attacked. McGonagall knew he had his suspicions – he had muttered something to her about the Potters and the attack on the ministry, but how the two were connected, he had yet to clarify. McGonagall had, at present, not managed to corner him and find out what he knew. For now she had her hands full, as did Dumbledore himself.

"Professor!" a boy hopped off a chair where he had been speaking to a heavily bandaged girl and slipped over to greet her, "have you finished…?"

"Yes, I have a moment to spare, Bill," she said, putting her hand on the red-haired boy's shoulder. The fifth-year Gryffindor had acted as her messenger and gatherer of information since he had arrived the evening before with a gaggle of first-years he had found huddling in the forest away from the train_. Definitely prefect material. Maybe even head boy,_ McGonagall thought to herself.

Bill took a quick glance around the room before he turned to McGonagall, "Professor, that girl who was hit by the Morcraven curse died about an hour ago. I'm sorry."

McGonagall closed her eyes and her grip on Bill's shoulder tightened, "laments can wait, Mr Weasley. Did you get the names of all the injured, like I asked?"

Bill nodded and pulled a long and crumpled piece of parchment out of his pocket, the names and the severity of their injuries printed in tiny, slanting writing. The parchment was packed.

"And the dead?" McGonagall asked quietly.

"Yes," Bill replied, "all but two – the bodies they couldn't identify. I'm trying to get a roster of each house so we can at least check off everyone who's fine, but you've been so busy, and Professor Snape says I can't go into the Slytherin common room to take a roll."

"I'll talk to him," McGonagall promised.

Bill lowered his voice, "Professor. Dumbledore will get them, won't they? They'll find them, and lock them away?" He looked away for a moment, blinking, and when he looked back, his eyes were fierce and cold.

"Everything that can be done, will be done," McGonagall said, not wanting to meet that blazing, icy gaze, "in the meantime, just do everything you can to help us deal with the aftermath."

"My best friend is dead, Professor. A little girl died an hour ago, screaming. Iolanthe could have scars on her face for the rest of her life," he looked over at the bandaged girl he had been talking to before McGonagall came in, "I'd kill them myself if I had the chance," Bill finished, then the blaze left his eyes, "I'm sorry, Professor. I actually wanted to ask, will we be able to send owls home yet? My parents must be really worried."

"Dumbledore didn't want any parents contacted until we were sure their child was alright," McGonagall told him, "but I assume it would be fine for you to send an owl to your parents if you can get a hold of one. I'm afraid all the school birds are gone for the moment. I know most of the other students have been sending letters home, even though we told them not to. Now I must go talk to Dumbledore about notifying the parents on this list," she waved the parchment he had given her, "thank you, Bill, your service has been invaluable."

"It's no problem, Professor," he said, and trotted back to the bedside of the girl, Iolanthe.

----------------------------------

McGonagall reached the gargoyle that hid the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Fudge Popsicle," she said, and the gargoyle stepped down to let her pass. She remembered Dumbledore laughing, not four days ago, when he told her the origin of this password. He had been resetting the password just as term was finishing the year before, when Peeves, chasing two second-years down the corridor, had dropped an enormous paint-filled water bomb right in front of the head master, spilling bright orange paint all over Dumbledore's second-best robes. Dumbledore had shaken his fist at Peeves, looking down at the glorious orange splash, "Oh Fu-" and then noticed the two second-years and quickly finished with, "-dge popsicle." The gargoyle, already half-enchanted, had taken this to be the new password and promptly reset itself. McGonagall had smiled at the story when Dumbledore had told it to her, but she didn't smile now.

At the top of the passage, McGonagall knocked and the door swung opened. The headmaster stood behind his desk, one hand on a stack of papers, his figure half-turned away from her to speak to two people seated just out of sight. McGonagall entered the room and saw that the visitors were Kingsley Shacklebolt, an important name among Aurors, and a stately woman wearing a green scarf and a face of grim resolve.

"…this is not a matter of personal choice," Dumbledore was saying to Kingsley, "I simply do not think we have any more chance with a direct assault than we did before the invasion of the Ministry. Do you think having their leader suffer a minor inconvenience will make the death eaters any less eager to defend him? We are not _ready._"

"I agree," Kingsley said, "no need to get angry, Dumbledore, I'm just the messenger for the Minister. I do think you must speak to Moody – I mean, the Minister – yourself, though."

The stately woman interjected, "you will do _nothing?_" she said sharply, "nothing! After what has happened in the last twenty-four hours, you are content to sit and wait? Perhaps, Dumbledore, it is not love of your students that keeps you hiding in Hogwarts after all, but a hint of cowardice?"

McGonagall stepped forward, ready to defend her Headmaster, but Dumbledore's eyes flicked a warning in her direction and she halted. Dumbledore looked at the woman with compassion that was overlaid by a steel tone, "Emmeline, I will forgive you your words as long as you never utter such nonsense again in my presence. This tragedy has grieved me far more than you could believe. You have lost a daughter, so I understand that you are ready to throw yourself against the death eater ranks for vengeance, but I have hundreds more children I must protect, and I will not let any one of them be put at risk for a hopeless cause. Now, if this meeting is over, I must get back to the running of this school."

Kingsley stood and gave a short bow as he left, but Emmeline Vance did no more than nod her head before sweeping from the room.

Dumbledore slumped a little as the door clicked shut and he gave McGonagall a wry smile, "How fares the plumbing, Minerva?"

"Quite severely filtered," McGonagall said dryly, "I'm sorry to lay this on you now, Dumbledore, but the healers were not able to lift the curse on Marabel Rhys. She passed about an hour ago."

Dumbledore turned away from her and gazed up at the slumbering portraits on his walls, "I made a mistake."

"Doubtful," McGonagall wandered around the desk to stand beside them, "you've done everything you can to help the students. Speak to them again this evening, and you'll see there are no fingers pointed at you for bringing them here."

Dumbledore shook his head, "I made a mistake. I should have insisted that the Potters made me their secret keeper. All these deaths could have been prevented."

"This _does_ have something to do with the Potters!"

Dumbledore nodded, "this has everything to do with the Potters. But I cannot yet understand how many had a hand in their murder. They were so sure of Sirius' loyalties…yet, if he was loyal, who betrayed them? And, as there was no mark in the sky, why did Voldemort flee, and where is his third victim? And was Harry on that train, and if so, where is he now…?"

"Not riddles I can decipher," McGonagall said apologetically, "I came to ask if we could begin sending owl to the parents now, Dumbledore. Those bodies we have identified have parents waiting to hear the fate of their children."

Dumbledore nodded, "yes, of course, I'm sorry I didn't send them sooner. I…" and he suddenly paused and looked round. One of the painting frames, which had been empty a moment before, was now filled by a puffing witch fanning herself with a laxative prescription.

"Headmaster!" the portrait gasped, "message from St Mungo's. A young auror named Hestia Jones has just arrived. She says she was captured when the ministry was attacked and has just escaped – she had a boy with her. A little boy. She says you must come at once."

Dumbledore's face registered emotionless for a moment, then he said, "thank you, Dilys. You can tell her I will come as soon as possible."

The portrait shook her head, "you're too late, Dumbledore. She's already fallen asleep on a chair in front of me. Poor little thing!"

"Well, I see she must be carrying knowledge of great import," Dumbledore chuckled, and turned to McGonagall, "begin notifying parents, Minerva, and let _no one_ know I have left the school. If you need me for any reason, contact me at once at St Mungo's."

---------------------------------

Arthur Weasley was awake in a moment. He threw back the covers and swung his legs onto the floor as his son ran to his side, clutching his wand in one hand. Molly sat up, her hand to her mouth.

"Where's he gone?" Arthur asked quickly, his head thumping from his sudden revival and his daughter's crying, "how do you know?"

"I _know_ because he's not in his bed," Charlie panted, "and I don't know where he's gone, but I know that the fireplace is blazing green and there's a box of floo powder spilled on the floor beside it!"

"Oh, God, he's gone back to Lupin's house. He doesn't understand…" Arthur stood up, grabbed his wand off the bedside table and summoned his dressing gown and slippers, "we have to stop him. Do you know when he left?"

Molly got out of bed and passed Arthur his glasses, then went to comfort the wailing Ginny.

"I think, about ten minutes ago," said Charlie, "why? What's at Lupin's house?"

"_Lupin_ is at Lupin's house," his father told him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His mother and father both looked at the sliver of moonlight shining through a crack in the curtains. Arthur said heavily, "Lupin is a werewolf, Charlie. And right now, he wouldn't know a small boy from a hunk of steak."

"Arthur!" said Molly sharply, "don't say that!"

Charlie shook his head, "no way," he said, "he seemed like such a nice guy…"

"He is a nice guy," his father reprimanded, "don't think of him any other way, Charlie! He's just a nice guy who disappears once a month. Now please wait here with your mother until I get back."

Charlie chased his father out the door, "I'm not staying here!" he called. Percy stuck his head out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and asking what was going on, "I'm coming with you!" Charlie shouted after his father. Ron and the twins appeared at the door of their own bedroom and Ronald and the twins joined in the shouting.

"Hey, Dad, Harry's gone, Dad!"

"You most certainly are not," Arthur replied to Charlie as he ran hurried down the stairs, calling, "Percy, go back to bed, Fred, George, Ron, I know that already. All of you _wait here._"

Charlie ran down the stairs, leapt past his father and stood between Arthur and the still-blazing fireplace, "you can't face a werewolf by yourself. I'm coming."

"No, Charlie, you are not," said Arthur briskly, gently pushing his son aside. He took a deep breath, put one foot in the fireplace and said loudly, "Remus Lupin's Cottage."

Percy, the twins and Ronald were standing on the stairs looking down at Charlie, "what's going on?" wailed Ronald in a tiny voice.

"You're all going back to bed," commanded Charlie, pointing his wand at them, "I'll be back in a few minutes," and he, too, put his foot on the fireplace.

"Dad said you mustn't!" Percy yelled, but Charlie was already spinning away.

--------------------------

Arthur emerged, coughing, into a room lit only by moonlight, and whispered, "Lumos," as he steadied himself, raising his wand. He had visited this small cottage only once, but it was no larger than he remembered. He felt his heart pumping fear through his veins, his eyes flicking into the dark corners of the room.

A growl rumbled through the air and made him jump as he spun to face it. To his right, a large wardrobe had been dragged away from the wall to reveal a darkened doorway, the door thrown open to show deep scratches down its length. Trying to hold his shaking arm as still as possible, Arthur forced himself to approach the doorway. Another low growl, and as the room beyond was lit by the light of the glowing wand, a small lump came into view. Arthur realised it was a child's foot, attached to a leg, the rest of the body hidden from view. Trying to quell his urge to run back to fireplace, leap into his bed and pull the covers over his head, Arthur took another step.

He jumped as the fireplace behind him burst into flame, and spun around to see Charlie stagger out onto the wooden floor, waving his hand in front of his face.

Arthur bellowed. "Get back to bed, young man, or I will…"

"Dad!" yelled Charlie, pointing. Arthur leapt around and the glint of two moon-blue eyes shone out from the darkness of the doorway, a huge paw visible below them. Arthur saw the paw tense and cried out a spell as the wolf leapt out of the darkness. Flames shot out of his wand, and the wolf twisted in mid air and landed on its feet, growling. It wasn't quite a true wolf: there was something human about the fluidity of its body, the shape of its face. But its teeth, huge and white and dripping with something dark, were neither wolfish nor human. They were the teeth of an abomination.

Arthur moved sideways, shooting a second jet of flame out of his wand, forcing the werewolf to back away and step sideways, away from the doorway, the smell of singed fur meeting Arthur's nostrils. He could feel Charlie quivering behind him, emitting soft moans of terror. His son's fear sent a thrill of boldness through Arthur's limbs. He stepped closer to the werewolf, shooting more flames at it and forcing it into the far corner of the room. The werewolf brushed one of the shelves and books tumbled onto the floor.

"Charlie, get to that door," he called, without taking his eyes from the glowing blue pupils of the wolf.

"Oh, I don't, I don't know any spells," Charlie sobbed, unable to leave the shelter of his father's body. The wolf suddenly tipped back its head and howled. It was not the chilling but beautiful howl of a true wolf. It was a horrible, malignant wail, like a banshee bringing tidings of death.

"_Get to the door!" _Arthur roared, "_get Harry!"_

"Harry?" Charlie seemed to have forgotten the original purpose of their mission, "oh, right…" Arthur heard him scamper across the floor towards the doorway.

The werewolf whined and tried to leap forward again, and yelped as Arthur drove it back once more. It began to growl and bark, pacing back and forward, trying to surprise this intruder that had interrupted it's revel. Arthur looked over his shoulder and saw Charlie running back towards the fireplace, already crying a spell to set the hearth ablaze, carrying something in his arms, a limp bundle of blood and torn pyjama fabric…Arthur felt bile rise in his throat…

The werewolf howled and rushed at Arthur, and Arthur forgot that it was Lupin, forgot that it couldn't help its savage nature, forgot that he had once defended a man called Remus when others had called him a monster. He bellowed and an inferno whirled out of the tip of his wand, and he heard the werewolf whine and screech as flames licked across its back and face. It slipped, knocking over the couch as it fell, and rolled over and over at Arthur's feet, trying to extinguish the flames, which were already dwindling. Its white teeth, stained red by blood, glinted in the moonlight as it snapped at the burning flames on its flank.

Charlie was standing in front of the blazing fireplace, staring at the werewolf with horror on his face. Arthur took a handful of floo powder from the box on top of the mantelpiece and hurled it into the flames.

"Home?" Charlie croaked, tears running down his cheeks. Blood, though not his own, was smeared across his shirt.

"St Mungo's," said Arthur, grabbing his son by the scruff of the neck and pulling the two of them – and the limp bundle in Charlie's arms – into the fire together.

-----------------------------------

TBC


	13. Werewolf and Dogstar

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

------------------------------

He felt broken.

It had happened when she had told him. Bellatrix. When she had laughed at him, and told him that the boy Hestia had saved was not his Harry, his precious Godson, but another boy. Longbottom. He remembered the Longbottoms: he remembered that they had been his friends, a long time ago, and that he had been outraged at their deaths, and mourned for them.

They were nothing now. No deaths could compare to the grief that swirled inside him, with the knowledge that Harry had not been saved. He had no more tricks left. No more allies. No more options. It was unbearable. Bellatrix had hurt him, as the other death eaters watched impassively, she had chuckled as he twisted in agony. But nothing she could do was worse than the knowledge that he had at last, ultimately, failed to the save the Potters.

He was broken. She knew it, and grew bored with him, and left him. Her husband – Rudoph? Radolph? What was his name? – played for a while, like a little brother sneaking out to the shed to play with his father's power tools. But he wasn't practised at it like Bellatrix was and before long he, too, left Sirius alone, lying bound and broken by the fire.

But they made a mistake. They thought he was asleep. And while he seemed to be slumbering uneasily they spoke of the Dark Lord's anger, what He would do to his servants when He discovered they had lost Him the boy, Longbottom. His anger would be far greater (they said) than his anger at losing the Potter boy off the train, and failing to find him again. It is always worse to lose something you thought you had than something you wanted to have.

The spark was lit once more in Sirius. He felt the cracks repairing themselves. Bellatrix had lied, had mislead him – Harry was not yet found! Perhaps Sirius had no means of helping him, but it gave the weakened auror a little strength. Rudoph – no, _Radolphus,_ that was his name – sat in an armchair watching Sirius, but as night dragged on his head began to nod, and Sirius, listening with keen ears to his breathing, soon judged that he was sleeping.

With this, he summoned every ounce of strength he had gained and transformed. It was difficult, because he was so exhausted, so hungry, and aching inside and out. But he managed it. Sirius vanished and the great black dog was there instead. The ropes cut into the dog's paws but he had sharp teeth now, and chewed them off. The dog swayed, and lay for a moment on its side, wanting nothing better than to drift off and never wake up again, but the human part of its mind heaved itself back onto its feet.

The door, it knew, was locked and enchanted, and the window had likewise been blocked. So the fireplace was the only escape. It had seen the box of floo powder, tucked behind the empty wood-box, but the powder was no good without fire, and the there were only glowing embers in the grate. It had to find something to burn, but what?

The dog treaded as softly as it could and sniffed around the sleeping Radolphus. The room was sparsely furnished, not some place that could be lived in for any long period of time. There were no newspapers, no cardboard boxes, not even books to burn. The only thing the dog could find was the cloak that Radolphus had laid over his knees to keep him warm while he kept watch.

As gently as it could, the dog took the end of the cloak in its teeth and began to pull. It could hear even the slightest change in Radolphus' breathing, every shift in his position, and it froze each time, waiting for him to wake up. But he continued to slumber, and at last the cloak slipped to the floor and the dog could carry it back to the burning coals and, with a little difficulty, drop it onto the hearth and prod it with its paw until it began to smell the fabric burning.

Sirius tensed and returned to human form. His senses dulled, he felt heavy and clumsy compared to the dog he had been a moment before. He blessed Bellatrix for not casting any spell to keep him from transforming, but she had obviously thought he was too weak, or had not realised how he had become the dog in the first place. With hands shaking from weariness, Sirius pulled the box of floo powder out, opened it and sprinkled a pinch onto the smouldering cloak.

Blazing green flames roared up the chimney, and with a yell Radolphus Lestrange was on his feet, his wand pointing at Sirius, blinking in confusion. Sirius spun around and froze as he saw the wand, all his auror training forgotten in his exhaustion. He could think of nothing more imaginative than to hurl the box of powder at the death eater's face and step backwards into the fire. But now he had forgotten where he had meant to go…anywhere…anywhere but here…

His mind blank, he whispered the first address that came into his head, the only one that he still associated with safety and comfort, "Remus Lupin's Cottage…"

---------------------------------

He tumbled out of the fireplace and lay huddled on Lupin's hard wooden floor, shuddering. Behind him, the fireplace spouted green, flickered, and died down to tiny emerald tongues. Moonlight poured into the room, turning Sirius' hands to silver.

"Now you're just a fool," he laughed in relief at having escaped the death eaters, "I don't think Moony will be much of a host tonight," he looked over to the door of the secret room he, Moony and James had built, years ago, to keep Lupin at bay on the full moon.

It was wide open.

Sirius took in the mess around him, the overturned couch, the spilled books, and in the blink of an eye, he became a dog again. He got to his feet and sniffed.

He could smell the residue of fear – _human _fear! – and human blood. Horror rushed through him. Lupin's worst fear must have come true. Perhaps some curious muggle travellers had come to the apparently empty cottage and decided to bunk down for the night. Perhaps one of Lupin's rural neighbours had come looking for him out of concern, and found him. Poor Moony…the dog gave a little involuntary whine. Moony would never forgive himself for hurting another human being.

Worse than that, Moony might now be running wild through the countryside. The dog put its nose to the ground and headed around the couch, but was surprised to see that the door to the cottage was shut tight.

The dog raised its head in curiosity. This was a strange riddle. If the muggles had shut the door on their way in before they met their fate, where were they now? If they had fled the cottage, why was the door shut? If they had shut the door as they fled, and therefore escaped unharmed, why the smell of blood? There were no other exits, except…

The fireplace. Which would mean that Moony's victim, or victims, were wizards. And wizards knew how to deal with werewolves…

Sirius heard a soft whine and focussed on the far corner of the room, shadowed from the window by the kitchen shelves. Two blue eyes, one half-shut, looked out from the shadows, and the dog saw a hunched canine shape.

The werewolf heard the dog's claws clicking on the wood and looked at this new visitor. It had a faint smell of human…but not the overwhelming scent that drove the madness inside it. The werewolf recognised this new animal. It was the black dog which it remembered from childhood: the black dog that had run with it beneath the moonlight. The dog had accompanied it when it had run free in years gone past, in the woods and fields of the School, when the great Stag had cantered beside them with the tiny rat clinging to its back. It knew this dog to be a friend.

Moaning quietly, the werewolf staggered upright and padded over to the dog. It hurt from the burning fire, that the Arthur-human had brandished at it. It would have torn the Arthur-human to pieces, if only the fire had not blinded its eyes and driven it away. The humans had filled its home, the Arthur-human, the smaller, weaker human it knew to be called Charlie, and the other one. The smell of their fear and their flesh had exploded against the werewolf, and it had felt madness whirling through it. It had to taste them, rip them, bite them…but the horrible fire! And finally, when the fire was gone, so had the humans. The madness had left it and it had curled itself into the corner, nursing its burns.

It tried to communicate this to the black dog, but the black dog did not speak the animal tongues so well and did not understand. It lowered its head before the black dog, whining its complaints.

Sirius nuzzled the werewolf and smelled the burned fur. What had happened to his poor friend? He licked the burns and the werewolf yelped and rubbed against his legs, crying pitifully in that strange canine language Sirius did not quite understand. He recognised that the werewolf was talking about humans, and fire, but nothing else. He sniffed at the werewolf's burned snout.

The smell of blood assaulted him.

Human blood. He knew this smell. He knew this blood.

This blood was Harry's blood.

Sirius leapt backwards, snarling, and the werewolf tensed and whined sadly, confused and upset. It crouched submissively, wanting to placate the black dog which it had thought was its friend. Sirius snapped at it, and again the familiar smell filled his nose.

He felt fury rising in him. He rushed at the werewolf, knocking it to the ground and growling, demanding an explanation. The werewolf didn't understand, and it drew back, jaws agape, ready to defend itself. The black dog hurled itself at the wolf and suddenly the two of them were snapping and scratching, rearing onto their hind legs, their fur bristling, each trying to sink their teeth into the other's flank, or snout, or throat. The werewolf was larger, but it was injured and exhausted, and one of its eyes was half-blinded by the stinging fire. The black dog sunk its teeth into the werewolf's muscled neck, clamping down with enough force to tear ligaments and rip flesh from bone. Sirius was in a frenzy, fuelled by weariness, frustration, and the smell of blood. He wanted to hurt the werewolf, maybe even kill it…

The werewolf howled, and something in its voice was almost human. In the black dog's brain, seething with red anger, an image of a boy called Remus flickered briefly and was gone.

His own voice rung in his ears, _"We don't care what you are in the moonlight. You're still our friend. You're still our brother!_"

He slowly relaxed his jaws, and released his hold on the werewolf's shoulder. The werewolf pulled away and huddled in the corner, growling. Sirius, knowing better than to turn his back on the cornered wolf, backed away until his tail was inches from the fireplace. He twisted and sniffed at the coals. He had long ago learned that the use of floo powder left behind residue of its destination. He smelled clean air and faint chemicals, the smells of hygiene and magic blended. A hospital.

He tried to form words with his canine throat, but only growls came out. Keeping his eyes on the wolf in the corner, he returned to human form and stepped into the fire, crying "St Mungo's Hospital." Even as he was whisked away, he turned back into the great black dog.

-------------------------

Hestia sat in one of the chairs in the hospital waiting room. She'd awoken to see Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes looking down at her, and leaped to attention. In her sleepy state she'd misjudged where her feet were and fallen flat onto the floor. Healer Madison rushed over crying, "Headmaster, don't hurt her! She's innocent!"

Dumbledore had helped to young witch to her feet, Hestia blushing gloriously red.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you," he said, his eyes smiling quietly, "I do hope I shan't be escorted from the hospital for disturbing the peace."

"No, no, I just fell over," Hestia brushed Healer Madison off.

She had been talked to Dumbledore for over an hour, until Madison had finally decided she was too tired to talk any more and told Dumbledore he had to leave the poor girl be. He vanished towards the ward where Neville was sleeping, murmuring questions to Healer Wenceslas as he went. Hestia had meant to find a spare bed in one of the wards, but the padded seats in the waiting room had been so much closer, and she had dropped into one and gone straight to sleep.

She had awoken to find one of the healers she didn't know holding out a tray of hospital dinner, which Hestia took gratefully. She was told that Dumbledore had not yet left the hospital, so she waited in the foyer for him, watching the strange maladies that people displayed as they wandered through.

Night had fallen when one of the fireplaces in the foyer burst into flames and two red haired men, one older and one just a boy, stumbled into the reception area. The boy was carrying someone in his arms, a child by the looks of it, and blood had fallen in tiny droplets onto the carpet in the their wake. Healers had rushed the three people away before Hestia could get a closer look.

The reception area was quiet now. The only other person in the foyer was the healer at the desk, who had her chin rested on one hand and was dozing quietly. Hestia was just nodding off again when one of the fireplaces suddenly blazed into life and something huge and black barrelled into the room, tumbling head-over-heels before it managed to contain its momentum and slid to a halt. Hestia shook her head to wake herself up and her jaw dropped. It was an enormous black dog, looking sooty and dishevelled. And it was strangely familiar.

Before she could place it, the dog stood and lowered its nose to the carpet. It was sniffing at the tiny drops of blood which had yet to be cleaned up. It raised its head, yelped once and then took off with surprising speed. The nurse at reception woke up and shrieked as the dog tore past her and up the nearest flight of stairs.

Hestia was already on her feet and sprinting after the dog, wand drawn. She took the stairs three at a time, passing a very surprised-looking Healer Madison as she went. She saw the door swinging shut at the first exit. She slammed through it and dashed into the corridor, then had to grab the wall to stop herself falling over as she skidded to a stop.

The dog had ended its mad flight. It had fallen to the ground and lay on its side, panting, at the feet of Albus Dumbledore, who stood with an air of bemusement and calm collection. He did not look in the least bit surprised to see an enormous, fierce animal fall to his feet in an empty hospital hallway.

"I'm sorry, I think you're looking for Spell Damage. It's on the fourth floor," said Dumbledore, without blinking an eyelid, "although I do recommend you have a healer escort you there. The elevator buttons are rather small and your paws are rather too big, I fear."

The dog lowered its head and seemed to shuck off its fur like a second skin. Hestia's mouth fell open as she remembered where she had seen the dog, only a few hours before. She watched in amazement as all canine elements melted away and Sirius Black appeared, curled on the ground in front of Dumbledore. He raised himself on his elbows and gave a sob.

"Where's my godson? Where is Harry?"

Dumbledore knelt and took Sirius' hands, lifting the tall, exhausted man to his feet. The older wizard was still by far the taller of the two, and he looked down at Sirius with a mixture of warmth and icy requisition, "first, tell me who betrayed the Potters."

Sirius's head drooped once more and Hestia had the distinct impression that Dumbledore's grip was all that was keeping him from collapsing, "it's all my fault. I convinced them to make Peter their secret keeper. Peter Pettigrew…I trusted him, and it killed them."

Dumbledore's icy gaze melted and he put one arm around Sirius' shoulders in a fatherly gesture, "hush, Sirius, I believe you. Come with me."

Healers were approaching, demanding to know what all the disorder was. They stopped when they took in Dumbledore, and swarmed around the headmaster, twittering. Dumbledore banished them with a few quick words and Hestia, realising she had intruded on a scene of utmost intimacy, stayed where she was and watched Sirius and Dumbledore continue down the corridor.

------------------------

Sirius looked up and found they had stopped outside a ward with a sign _'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites_. He looked at Dumbledore.

"He is alive? I thought…I thought, perhaps, I mean, werewolf bites sometimes…"

Dumbledore's face wore a grim expression, "listen to me before we enter, Sirius. Harry is alive. But you of all people must know about the effects of a werewolf mauling. This was Remus Lupin's first taste of human flesh, and…look at me, Sirius, you _must_ hear this…he got carried away. Harry was lucky to receive medical attention so quickly, otherwise, no, he would not be alive right now. But before you see him…_look at me, Sirius_…before you see him, you must know he was savaged very severely, and it will be hard for you to see him as he is. Now, do you understand?"

Sirius nodded mutely. Dumbledore reached for the handle of the door and opened it, allowing Sirius to enter before him.

--------------------

The ward was empty apart from the bed nearest the door. Sirius approached it slowly, his hands hanging limply at his side. A figure, so small and fragile it might have been made of paper, lay in the middle of the bed, swamped by blankets and pillows. Tubes snaked from the bed to a large bottle of topaz-coloured substance on the table nearby. Magical indicators of heart-rate and blood pressure rested on the table, flickering silently. A green-robed healer was adjusting one of the indicators, but she looked up and saw Sirius, with Dumbledore standing in the doorway behind him, and floated out, whispering to the headmaster as she went.

Sirius barely even saw her. He stood beside the bed, looking down at his godson, his face as expressionless as a snowy landscape. Harry was sleeping, his breathing soft and even, but his chest laboured to rise with each beat.

The right side of his face was entirely swathed in bandages, so only one closed eye was visible. The blankets were pulled up to his waist, and his chest was wrapped in layers of white dressing. His right arm lay across his chest in a sling, enveloped by a white cast with golden runes flashing across it. Gauze dressings were taped to various hidden lacerations, on his left cheek and ear, his shoulder, hands, and neck. Three fingers on his right hand were splinted to thin rods. Bruises glowed like black shadows from beneath the bandages.

Sirius reached out to touch the sleeping boy's cheek, then pulled his hand back, as if afraid to injure him further.

He realised Dumbledore was standing beside him, having conjured up two chairs. Sirius sat down heavily and slumped into his hands, his elbows resting on the bespread.

"Tell me."

Dumbledore took a breath and began, "there are deep scratches on the right side of his face and lacerations to his chest and shoulders. His right arm was broken in the werewolf's jaws," Dumbledore did not say 'Lupin's jaws', which was good of him, "when he raised it to protect his face, and his fingers were also crushed, and his arm has cuts all the way up. There are more lacerations across his legs and back. He has not lost his eye, for which he was lucky, and the bruising to his internal organs from the ribs broken by the werewolf's weight has already been repaired by the healers. Aside from the broken bones, his injuries are now mostly superficial."

"He'll be infected," Sirius said quietly.

"There is no doubt," Dumbledore told him, "but it could have killed him, and it hasn't. Large doses of the werewolf residue are often fatal, but Harry got to the hospital quickly and so he has been lucky. The Wolfsbane potion that the healers are pumping into him is keeping it at bay. That potion is all that is keeping him alive, for the moment. But it cannot stop Harry becoming a Werewolf."

Sirius buried his face in his hands, "but everything else, they can heal?"

"The healers tell me they have already stabilised his wounds, all except for those on his face."

"What? Why not?" Sirius bristled, staring at Dumbledore.

The headmaster quickly put his hand on Sirius' shoulder, "that was at their discretion. The lacerations to Harry's face are severe, but the if the healers can slow down the process, heal the wounds as slowly as possible – over the period of a few months – they can minimise the scarring. Otherwise, Harry would never look the same again. As it is, they believe that he will make a full recovery with barely any visible marks to show. They tell me the scar he received four days ago cannot be healed, but it can always be hidden by magical means."

Sirius looked back at his godson. He had not even thought about the visible damage that would remain. Working as an auror, you got used to scars pretty quickly. But he felt glad that Harry would not have to grow up with that. Scars were all very well for a respected man like old Mad-Eye Moody, but for a child, it would have been tough.

Dumbledore paused before he continued, "Sirius, Hestia Jones has already told me where you have been, and she seemed assured that you were not in league with the Death Eaters. Arthur has told me everything else I need to know. And I have seen the scar on Harry's forehead. Do you understand what it means?"

Sirius nodded, "there is a prophecy. James told me as much as he dared. Harry is destined to defeat you-know-who. That's what the scar means? It's some kind of…brand?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, "I do not quite understand everything myself," he said, "but yes, in most respects, you have the right idea. However, there is much more you must know about, and then you must make a difficult decision as Harry's legal guardian. There is another boy in this hospital who also bears that scar, and tomorrow I must speak to his grandmother. Tomorrow, Sirius, I will tell you everything. But tonight, you are too tired, and your judgement would not be sound in your present position. You must have a clear head when I speak to you tomorrow. For tonight, I will have the healers find you a bed and see to it that all your needs are addressed."

The old man stood up and made for the door, "you may stay with Harry for now. A healer will come to get you once I have spoken to one. Please don't wake him, Sirius."

Sirius nodded and then, as Dumbledore's hand rested on the doorhandle, Sirius said, "Dumbledore, someone has to go to Remus Lupin's cottage as soon as he has returned to human form. He is injured."

"I will find someone to send as soon as I can," said Dumbledore, then he added coolly, "Arthur feared he might have burned him. Did you see how badly?"

"Not too badly," said Sirius quietly, "but he received…other injuries."

"I see," said Dumbledore, and his tone was no longer warm. He shut the door with a soft click and his footsteps disappeared down the corridor.

Sirius put his large hand over Harry's small one and bent his head in lament.

--------------------------

TBC

Next chapter, Dumbledore tells Sirius the truth.

To all those who disapproved of Harry being a werewolf: I'm sorry, but that was how it was always going to be. I don't want that to turn you off this fic, and I hope I can make it up to you somehow. I promise the subject will be treated with concern, not with a throwaway "oh well, that's just an excuse for tasteless jokes and romantic angst" attitude. It's a serious issue and I want it to be an important part of the development of the fic, especially if there is a part two or even three. I'll treat it with as much realism as possible.


	14. Everything

This chapter sort of contains HALF-BLOOD PRINCE SPOILERS. Sort of.

A/N: IT IS DONE. The finale of part one. You may hate it. You may even like it. Either way, I'd love to hear about it.

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

---------------------

Sirius slept uneasily through what was left of the night. Thoughts of his godson's future rushed through his head, swirling around and around. Everything it would mean to Harry, to be a werewolf. The prejudices he would face from his peers, the difficulties he would have as an adult. Lupin always claimed he managed a normal life, but that was a very optimistic approach. The reality was that the world was not kind to people like Lupin and Harry.

As if Harry didn't have enough to worry about already! As if the burden of such a prophecy was not burden enough for one child! As if the danger of living as two people, one ordinary and one a monster, was not dangerous enough! Harry would have to live a hunted life, sought by you-know-who until he was old enough to face him. A hunted life, a haunted life. His childhood would be short. His life might be shorter.

And how was Sirius to raise a child? He was an auror! He would never be at home, and he couldn't very well take Harry on missions with him. How could he help Harry through the monthly transformations when he was off hunting dark wizards in Bulgaria, or Egypt, or some god-forsaken Pacific Island in the middle of nowhere? _I can't be a father! _Sirius thought savagely, and at that moment he swore that he would save every penny he could manage in order to pay for Wolfsbane, the expensive new potion that might ease Harry's transformations, and also make him easier to deal with when he was a wolf.

_I'm all he's got left_, he realised suddenly, _and I won't let Dumbledore take him away. Lily had a sister – perhaps Dumbledore wants Harry to go and live with muggles! No, I won't allow it_.He began to plan out his arguments to convince the headmaster to hand custody over to Sirius.

He thought about all the adjustments he would have to make in order to accommodate Harry into his life. He would have to find a proper house, not just that tiny flat in the basement of Mundungus Fletcher's place. He would have to find a nanny to look after Harry when he wasn't at home. He couldn't leave his unwashed clothes lying around the house, or Lily's ghost would strike him down for corrupting her son. He would have to find a book on domestic management spells. He'd have to learn to cook. He'd have to stop drinking altogether (except maybe a little, at the auror's annual Halloween party.)

These thoughts kept him tossing and turning as the night wore on, but at last he fell into a dreamless sleep and awoke to sunlight filling the room and a ragged old wizard on the next bed snoring loudly, with a large cactus growing out of his forehead.

Sirius rubbed his eyes and rolled over to look at the golden clock hanging on the wall above the door, which declared that the time was ten o'clock in the morning and nobody in the general vicinity had anything to fear from their day's astrological charts. He had showered, shaved and been given new clothes the night before, and he rolled out of bed and sleepily pulled them on, blinking to try and wake himself up.

A green-robed healer with her grizzled hair pulled into a bun bundled into the room, carrying a tray of cereal and watery orange juice.

"Good morning, Mr Black," she said with a fierce eagle-like stare, "I'm Healer Madison. And _you_ must be the one Miss Jones is so fluttered about."

"Whuh?" Sirius blinked. Madison put tray down on the table and raised her eyebrows.

"Not too bright, I see," she said enigmatically, "well, I guess it's a matter of taste. You know, she actually wanted to go gallivanting through London to come and rescue you? Goodness, I wouldn't let my daughter anywhere near a man like you. But then, I wouldn't let her become an auror, either."

Sirius shook his head, "sorry, I'm afraid I seem to have earned an unfashionable reputation in advance. Hestia's here? In the hospital?"

"Yes, she's just down the hall, but you're not to go bothering her now, she just had that anti-apparating hex removed from her and I don't want you whisking her off somewhere," she tapped the tray were her wand and milk poured out of thin air and into the bowl of cereal, "now eat up while I take yours off too, you're still sick as a dog."

Oblivious to the pun she had unintentionally made, Madison stood over Sirius and tapped her wand on his shoulder and chest to remove the anti-apparating hex while he diligently ate the cereal and swilled down the watery orange juice.

"Can I see my godson now?" Sirius asked at last, when she announced the hex was gone and picked up the tray.

Madison frowned, "your godson…? Oh," her eyes widened and a look of sympathetic sadness can over her face, "yes, of course. You know where he is? Go ahead. I'll just drop this with one of the house-elves."

He found his way to the elevator and down to the first level. He had to pause outside the door to the Dai Llewellyn ward, steeling himself. Then he went in and faced Harry for the second time.

His godson was awake, and wearing his glasses even though his right eye was covered up. One of the healers had just finished redressing the bandages on his face, and was checking the Wolfsbane in the enormous topaz bottle. She looked up and gave Sirius a small smile.

Harry looked around and a grin broke across his face. Sirius was by his side an instant later, trying to hug Harry without hurting him and kiss him without disturbing the fresh bandages, and ending up bumping heads and getting the button on his sleeve caught on Harry's cast. Harry raised his good arm, locked it around his godfather's neck and refused to let go. Sirius had to kneel by the bed and lean forward uncomfortably, but he didn't care, he didn't even notice.

"They said you were here and I didn't believe them," Harry babbled, beginning to cry, "I thought they were making it up to make me feel better but you're here you really are and I'm so glad I'm so glad, I'm _so, so_ happy you're not dead."

"Of course I'm not," Sirius scoffed, grinning at his godson and nuzzling Harry's teary cheek with his nose, "I'm a big bad auror, and I can get out of _any_ trouble."

Harry closed his eyes and contentment spread across his face. He still hadn't let go of Sirius' neck, "I knew you'd be here. I knew if I found Dumbledore you'd be okay."

Sirius wiped Harry's tears away with his sleeve, "so, you're not scared of Dumbledore any more? He's not so bad once you get to know him, huh?"

"He's _enormous!_" Harry cried, "but he _was_ very nice. He brought me breakfast and asked me how I was feeling. He had a look at my scar, too," Harry tried to raise his broken arm to touch his forehead, winced, and lowered it again.

"How _are_ you feeling?" Sirius asked seriously.

"My chest hurts," Harry said dismissively, "and my face and stuff, and my arm. And my other arm where you're leaning."

"Oh, sorry," Sirius moved his elbow.

"It's okay. That's all that hurts. And the healer gave me some pills that make it better, and she did some spells with her wand that make my feel all lighter, like I got balloons in me or something. It hurt worse last night. I kept waking up and I was all by myself in this big room here, and it hurt so much, and I cried a bit, but the healer came and she said she'd do a spell to help me sleep, and I guess she did because I don't remember anything after that."

"What do you remember about last night?" asked Sirius softly.

Harry frowned, "when?"

"After you left Charlie's house," Dumbledore had told Sirius all the events that had lead up to Harry's return to Lupin's cottage.

"Oh, I don't know," Harry said, his voice growing very quiet, "I mean, I think I understand. Moony's…um…Lie-can-thra-pee. It means he turns into the werewolf, doesn't it?"

Sirius nodded.

Harry sniffed, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make such a fuss. Moony is okay though, isn't he? When I asked Dumbledore, he said Charlie's dad rescued me but he might have hurt Moony a little bit."

"Moony's fine," Sirius assured him. His voice had grown hoarse, and he tousled Harry's hair as he tried to smile and blink back tears, "he's a bit shook up, but he's going to be fine."

Harry nodded, and finally released his hold on Sirius' neck. The conversation turned to ordinary, childish things, as Harry told Sirius in broken, muddled pieces all his adventures since they had been separated all those days ago. Sirius learned all about his first cousin (once removed) Tonks, and about Charlie Weasley who had flown Harry on a broomstick, "I'm going to fly broomsticks when I'm older, that's gonna be my job," Harry assured Sirius, and about all Charlie's brothers and sisters, "there's Fred and George, and I can't tell which one is which! I really can't! And there's Ron, and he showed me his collection of beetles, he told me all about what his Dad does, and there's the little girl, she was kind of annoying, she kept following me around," and Sirius was told eagerly about how messy the Burrow was, "Mum would've done her nut if I made that much mess," he said, "I'm so jealous of Ron. He's gets to live in a house that's full of mess and he's always got someone to play with, with all his brothers."

"Well, I'm sure, if you like, we could visit the Weasleys whenever you wanted to," said Sirius.

Harry's face lit up, and then winced again, as smiling pulled at the cuts on his face, "you mean…I'm going to come and live with you?"

"Well, if Dumbledore allows it," Sirius said, "I think he wants you to go and live at Hogwarts. He said he has to talk to me, because I'm your legal guardian."

"Oh," said Harry, "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"No! Of course not!"

"That's alright," Harry looked relieved, "I just mean, he is a _teacher_."

"I should probably go and talk to him right now," said Sirius, "I'll be back once I've finished. Then maybe we can talk about you coming to live with me."

"Okay, but I'm going to sleep now," said Harry, turning his head to give Sirius a kiss, "so you can talk to me but I won't talk to you."

Sirius laughed and got up to leave. At that moment, he heard a commotion out in the corridor.

"Let me be," a voice said loudly, "for goodness' sake, let me go!"

The voice of a young healer replied angrily, "well, go then! It's not as if _I_ know best! I'm not medically trained or anything!"

The door was pushed open and Remus Lupin limped into view. Sirius stood shock still, feeling his smile vanish from his face. Lupin leaned heavily on the doorway, one hand clutching the wood with white knuckles and tugging at his hair with his other hand. He saw Sirius, and then his eyes flicked to Harry and a look of utter misery swamped his face. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to awaken from a nightmare.

Sirius walked to the doorway without meeting Lupin's eye. If he looked at Lupin, he didn't know what he would do.

But Lupin looked at him and said, in a voice filled with desperation, "I couldn't stop. I couldn't. Please … don't make this harder for me …"

"I have to speak with Dumbledore," said Sirius, still staring over Lupin's shoulder at the young healer bobbing anxiously in the background.

"Please, Sirius," Lupin pleaded, "look at me."

Sirius looked at him. His eye was swollen and bloodshot, and a bandage covered the bloody bite on his neck where Sirius had sunk his teeth in. The burns seemed to have been healed already, by the magical creams the healers would have applied as soon as Lupin was brought to the hospital.

Yes, Lupin would heal. He would not have scars. He would have no brand to show where Sirius had so nearly ripped his throat out. But Harry's scars would never heal, and Harry would be forever changed.

Sirius felt the fury rip through him again. He twitched, and realised he had grabbed the front of Lupin's shirt and slammed him against the doorway. His faces was inches from Lupin's nose, and his teeth were bared in a grimace. Lupin tensed but did not struggle. He stared at Sirius.

"Stop it! Oh! Goodness! Stop it!" the young healer beat weakly at Sirius' back, "no fighting in the hospital! Stop it!"

Realising what he had just done, Sirius released Lupin's shirt and turned away. He could hear Lupin gulping deep breaths.

"Don't you hate me," Lupin said quietly, "don't you dare let me hate myself. How can you blame me? You, of all people?"

Sirius balled his fists and looked from Lupin to Harry. His godson was sitting upright, staring at him with a confused expression, "you could have stopped it," he hissed through his teeth, "you could have told him not to follow you, you could have told him why. You could have…taken Wolfsbane…anything…"

Lupin gaped at him, and Sirius realised how stupid he sounded. How could Lupin possibly afford Wolfsbane when he could barely afford to patch his own robes? How could he possibly have made Harry understand the danger?

Lupin closed his eyes and turned his head away. Sirius stormed out into the corridor and left the ward behind, trying to get his anger back under control. He knew that before long he would be washed by guilt. Tomorrow, he would probably be begging for Lupin's forgiveness. But right now, it was too raw. What had happened, what Lupin had done.

Dumbledore was just down the hallway talking to one of the healers, a man with a floppy grin and his hair combed flat, a healer named Trefusis. When he saw Sirius he excused himself and walked to met him.

"Good morning," the headmaster raised one eyebrow, "or apparently not, if your expression is anything to go by."

Sirius just shook his head, took a breath and felt himself calmed once more, "you said you had more to tell me about the prophecy. I need to know."

Dumbledore sagged as if he had hoped Sirius would not ask, "yes," he said quietly, "but not here. Er…Madison," he snagged the elderly healer as she went past, "is there somewhere more private where I could talk to Mr Black?"

"Of course, headmaster. My office is just above us," she pointed at the ceiling, "next floor up, at the first corner you come to. My name's on the door. It should be unlocked."

"Thank you immensely," Dumbledore told her, "Sirius, we will speak there."

--------------------------------

Dumbledore sat down in Healer Madison's chair and Sirius took a seat across the desk from him. He felt strangely nervous. Something about Dumbledore's manner suggested what he had to reveal about the prophecy was far worse than Sirius had feared.

He waited for Dumbledore to begin. The old wizard did not speak for several moments. Finally he said, "you know that Neville Longbottom is also in this hospital, also bearing a scar on his forehead, also orphaned by the dark lord and sought by his death eaters?"

Sirius nodded, "Hestia and I rescued him. When I thought he was Harry."

Dumbledore nodded, "where am I to begin, Sirius? With the prophecy, I suppose. I told it to James and Lily – do you know what it says?"

"Yes," said Sirius. He had heard it intoned by James on the day they had made him Harry's godfather. He remembered Lily's face, grim and passionate, as if she was proud to bring into the world a child with such a destiny.

"That prophecy was not completely specific. You may or may not know that Alice and Frank Longbottom went into hiding for exactly the same reason as the Potters – because the prophecy seemed to be pointing at their son. They, however, declined the Fidelius charm, even when I offered to be their secret keeper myself. And, as you must know, Voldemort," Sirius tried not to wince at Dumbledore's unexpected use of the name, "tracked them down about a month ago and murdered Frank and Alice. According to the testimony of Neville himself, whom I questioned last night, he then proceeded to cast a killing curse on Neville. But for some reason, of which I am not yet sure, the curse failed to kill Neville. Instead, it rebounded onto Voldemort himself. I do not know what happened then. He seemed to be expecting it because apparently he already had death eaters waiting. They swarmed the house, left the body of a boy in the incinerator – it was a muggle child from one of the nearby villages – and both Neville and Voldemort vanished from the house. I have reason to believe, from trustworthy sources, that Voldemort, though not killed outright, was left living by the thinnest piece of life. However, as I said, he seemed to be expecting it. That very night, he and his followers carried out a ritual, using Neville's blood, to restore him to health. Neville remained with them, seemingly shuffled from outpost to outpost, until he happened to be left in the hands of your cousin Bellatrix, and was subsequently rescued by yours and Hestia's brave efforts and brought to the hospital."

Sirius leaned forward, filled with excitement, "and this is what happened to Harry? Voldemort branded him by casting the killing curse – but for some reason, it didn't work?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He seemed to be struggling to keep some painful emotion at bay. At last he said, in the softest voice imaginable, "no, Sirius. This is not what happened to Harry."

Sirius frowned, and waited for the explanation.

"Sirius, have you ever heard of a horcrux?" asked Dumbledore.

Sirius frowned, "er…yes, once. It's like, one half of your soul, isn't it?"

"It is a vessel in which a piece of a person's soul is contained," Dumbledore explained, "it is achieved by the act of murder, preceded by certain rituals, and a fragment of the soul is trapped inside an object which then anchors it to earth, so that even if the body is destroyed, the soul remains tethered and can be revived."

Sirius listened in silence. He felt a little drop of fear begin to spread in the back of his brain.

"This, I now know without a doubt, is how Voldemort kept himself from death on the night of the Longbottoms' murders. But I think he has not made one Horcrux, but many – how many, I fear to guess. I believe he is trying to collect seven. Four nights ago, he made another. I think he has long planned to use a living vessel for at least one of his horcruxes, and a month ago, two events coincided – he found and branded the child who is prophesised to be his downfall, and a man named Peter Pettigrew told him he could hand him the Potters. Well, Voldemort lets nothing go to waste. He now knew that Harry was no threat, since he was sure the prophecy was indicating Neville, but he had been searching for the Potters for four years. It seems he found some poetic justice in creating a second child who could be his deliverance. He went to the Potters, and, from what Harry told me, used Lily's death as the means to split his soul and implant the torn fragment of it in its new host. Harry."

Sirius shook his head. He raised his hands, then lowered them, balled his fists. He looked at the floor, then at Dumbledore, than at a pen resting on Healer Madison's desk. Then he said, "you mean this. You mean that Harry is one of these – Horcrux – things. You're saying that the mark on his forehead means that…that he has a piece of you-know-who's _soul_ inside of him?"

Dumbledore looked at him, but did not need to reply.

Sirius pushed himself to his feet. He put his face in his hands, then onto the desk, stared at them, and raised his head to look at Dumbledore, "why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Because, Sirius," said Dumbledore heavily, "I wanted you to spend some time with Harry first. I wanted you to be able to look at him without the burden of this knowledge."

Sirius sat down and buried his face in his hands. Then he lowered his arms slowly, "the burden of what knowledge?" he said quietly, and coldly, "what haven't you told me?"

He had never seen Dumbledore look so old or weary, "you have guessed this already."

Sirius shook his head. He knew, and denied, what Dumbledore was about to tell him, "tell me!"

"Sirius, before Voldemort can ever be defeated, all of his horcruxes must be destroyed."

There was a silence so complete in the room that all the sounds from the corridor outside were magnified. Sirius could not breath. He could hear is own heartbeat ringing in his ears. He almost fancied he could hear Dumbledore's heartbeat as well.

Dumbledore leaned forward and linked his long fingers together, "this is the decision you must make, Sirius. As Harry's guardian. This secret will get out. Tomorrow, or in a month's time, it doesn't matter. I have found out. Soon the ministry will find out. Alastor Moody will find out. Everyone who has even the faintest desire to destroy Voldemort – aurors, wizards, death eaters, they all long for it – will find out. You cannot hide Harry from all of them. They will take him from you by force. And I am quite certain that Alastor Moody, at the very least, will want the most extreme method used."

Sirius did not want to ask, but he couldn't help himself, "which is?"

"The Dementor's Kiss," said Dumbledore, "the only sure way to destroy the piece of Voldemort's soul. And a dementor will not be satisfied with that piece alone. It _will_ take Harry's soul as well."

"No," Sirius balled his fists, "I will _never_ allow that to happen! I would…I would…"

"You would rather Harry were dead," Dumbledore finished.

Suddenly Sirius understood completely what the old wizard wanted him to do. He couldn't believe it for several seconds, drawn out with the silence.

"You know I could never do that," he said, "how could I?"

"You do not have to," Dumbledore replied, "Harry needs Wolfsbane potion. For at least two or three days more, it will be the only thing keeping him alive. You have two days to make that choice, and take Harry off the Wolfsbane. Before that time is up, Moody will probably discover that two boys who are supposed to be dead are recovering in St Mungo's. He will find out the rest of the story not long after. Then he will come for both of them."

Sirius grimaced, then looked into Dumbledore's eyes, "you could take him to Hogwarts," he said, "he'd be safe there. You could protect him where I can't."

Dumbledore shook his head, "no, Sirius, I could not. Sooner or later, Voldemort would come for him. I will not put the lives of every one of my students at risk."

"I'll protect him myself. I can…I can…"

"You cannot protect him forever, Sirius. When the death eaters take him back, your last chance to save him will be gone. Once he is in their hands, what do you think they will do with him?"

"I don't know. This isn't fair. I don't know," Sirius closed his eyes, "you cannot make me do this! He's all I have left of Lily and James!"

"It will not be painful, Sirius. We will give him a potent sleeping draught. The werewolf residue will overcome him very quickly, while he sleeps, and then it will be over. No pain, and the healers will do it for you. You can be by his side. Or, if you prefer not to watch, you can leave once he is asleep."

Sirius pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and forced back the tears. The frustration and agony of Dumbledore's words was growing steadily inside him. But he stuffed it back down.

"I am truly sorry, Sirius," said Dumbledore, "I would do anything to take this back."

"Please," Sirius said, "I can't make the decision yet. I just can't. Let me be alone, just for a day, an hour even."

"Of course," said Dumbledore. He got up and came around the desk, and spoke kindly, as if to a child, "come, I'll take you back to the ward you slept in last night. You can stay there. When you're ready, ask one of the healers to contact me. I must return to Hogwarts for now, but as soon as you need me, I will come back."

Sirius nodded dumbly and, head drooping, allowed Dumbledore to lead him back to the elevator and up to the ward upstairs.

-----------------------------

As soon as he had closed the door on Sirius' ward, Dumbledore called for Healer Trefusis. The man came quickly, with two burly male nurses by his side.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Trefusis," the headmaster said heavily, "I can hope that he will do as I have asked, but at this point I do not know what he will do. Just make sure he doesn't leave this floor until he is ready to contact me."

"Of course, headmaster," said Trefusis. He and the two burly nurses took positions on either side of the door, like bodyguards.

Dumbledore nodded and walked back the elevator. He felt drained and bleached by a roaring sun. Had he ever done anything as difficult as that? Had he ever told anyone anything crueler than this?

But what other choice did he have? Before Voldemort could be killed, a child had to die. Like a plague, everything Voldemort had touched and infected had to be burned. The pain he caused went beyond direct destruction. All the terrible things that had happened over the last few days could be linked back to that one cruel spell, transforming an ordinary boy into a vessel for further evil.

With these macabre thoughts spinning through his head, Dumbledore went about the hospital, making sure Healer Madison understood what she must do when he came back, and arranging for a few more healers to come to Hogwarts to replace those that were still tirelessly trying to nurse the injured students. Thoughts of the attack on the Hogwarts Express hardened Dumbledore's resolve – that attack would never have taken place if Harry Potter had not been on that train.

For a moment, he considered looking in on Harry to say goodbye before he went back to Hogwarts, but decided against it. After everything he had just revealed to Sirius, he could not talk to the boy as if nothing had changed. Everything had changed.

He did look in on Neville, and said goodbye. Healer Wenceslas was reading Neville a book about toads and Neville was chuckling happily as he waved to Dumbledore, oblivious to the task that fate had dealt him and hardships he would one day have to face. Dumbledore went on.

As he entered the reception, he saw Hestia Jones dash over to catch up with him. _Goodness, doesn't that girl have somewhere to be?_ He thought.

"I'm glad I caught you," she panted, "I'm just about to take off. Kingsley's coming around to show to me to the new auror headquarters."

"Ah, and you will finally get to meet the new Minister Moody?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yeah, and give the old windbag a piece of my mind," muttered Hestia, "I'll show him, Headmaster, you just see."

"I would love to see that, Hestia," Dumbledore told her, "and I wish you luck."

"Thanks. I just wanted to say goodbye to Sirius before I left. Have you seen him?"

"He's in a ward on the fourth floor. Where he slept last night," Dumbledore told her.

"No he isn't," said Hestia, "I was just up there. It's locked."

Dumbledore frowned, "you must have gone to the wrong ward. I was just saying goodbye to him half an hour ago. I assure you he is still there."

Hestia shook her head, "no, I'm telling you, I went up to that ward, and it's all locked up. It wouldn't even open when I tried shooting a couple of spells at it. Er, not that I tried," she added hastily.

A small frown creased Dumbledore's forehead. He turned and sped back towards the elevator. Hestia called after him, but he did not reply. He pressed the button for the lift but when nothing happened after several second he walked swiftly towards the stairwell and took off up it, Hestia running to keep pace behind him.

Albus Dumbledore pushed open the door to the first floor. A mass of green robes met his eyes: it seemed every healer in building was congregating outside the Dai Llewellyn ward. They parted like fishes as Dumbledore approached.

Only Remus Lupin remained standing beside the door, looking bemused. He saw Dumbledore and his face hardened, "what's going on? Where'd he take Harry? Why was he so angry at you?"

Dumbledore did not reply. The door to the Dai Lewellyn ward had been flung open. The bed where Harry had lain was empty, the covers thrown back and the instruments on the table hurled aside. The great bottle of Wolfsbane was also gone. From the crowd behind, one healer yelled, "someone come help! There's death eaters in the building! Trefusis and two nurses have just been found stupyfied in a closet on the fourth floor!"

Before panic could break out, Dumbledore's voice rose about the frightened muttering of the crowd, "there are no death eaters," he roared, and at once everyone was silent, "there are no death eaters," he repeated, then turned to Lupin, "where did he go?"

Lupin shook his head, "I don't know. He apparated. Hey," as Dumbledore turned, Remus grabbed his sleeve, "please, tell me what's going on. He was so angry…"

Dumbledore shook his head, "he's gone. He's taken Harry and gone."

"You mean, he _is_ working for you-know-who?" Lupin's jaw dropped, "he's taking Harry to the death eaters? But they'll kill him!"

"No," said Dumbledore softly, "he is not working for the death eaters, and they will not kill Harry. Sirius is trying to protect him from everybody else."

---------------------------

The wind roared across the empty landscape. A few stunted tree sprouted from the rocky hillside. It looked lifeless, and then there was a spot of movement.

A man, his long, dark hair tied back from his face, was crouched in the shelter of a huge, overhanging rock. A small boy, black-haired, and covered in bandages, was huddled under one of his arms. In his lap, the man cradled a huge bottle of some a topaz-coloured liquid, which he was pouring out into a small cup.

"I know it tastes horrible," he was saying to the boy, "but you have to drink it, once every two hours. Otherwise you won't get better."

The boy took the cup and, with a little difficulty because his arm was in a cast, drank as the man had instructed, making a bitter face. He handed the cup back, "what's going on? Why did we come here?" he asked, cuddling closer to his godfather for warmth.

"I'll explain everything later," Sirius assured him, "right now, we just have to stick it out. We're going to need more bandages for you, and some food, and shelter, but we'll get all that. Somehow."

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, staring out across the empty landscape.

"I don't know," the man replied, "I don't know where we're going to do. I don't know what we're going to do. We just have to keep going."

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END OF PART ONE.

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It's finished. For now, of course. I feel happy, and I feel gloomy. What do you feel?

A/N: Some of you will not have liked the ending. I totally understand, and I really, really, want to hear your thoughts about it. Go ahead. Tell me just how angry you are.


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